Black Rose
by june7rose
Summary: Crimson Peak. Thomas Sharpe finds Edith again. Eventually rated M. Romance, angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy.
1. Chapter 1

I gasp the moment I see her again. She's asleep at the witching hour when it's easiest to visit; part of me is happy to avoid the confrontation of scaring her, while part of me is disappointed that I can't speak to her, look into her hazel eyes. Her long golden blonde hair is in a tangle on the faded linen pillow case.

She must sense something. Edith was always very perceptive. She rolls over, and the linen sheets come with her, flopping down to her knees. And then I see.

The big, billowing white cotton nightgown and its frilly lace sleeves can't hide what's lurking beneath it. Her belly is round, her hands and arms are softened with a slight touch of extra weight, and her face is just a bit softer. She's pregnant. I gasp again.

Good. Good, that's a good thing. She got remarried; she has someone to look after her. But shards of jealousy, like broken glass, shoot through my veins like the blood they used to hold. Negativity is...painful...in this state. For someone who has swallowed gallons of pain, emotional and physical all my life, I am lost in this new world I'm in where I can't seem to hold onto either for very long—the agony it brings shuts me down.

How I wanted her for my wife, for my love. Yes, I fantasized about having children with her, all while part of me knew her time with me was very limited. My sister never let them live. Together we plotted to murder my beautiful, innocent wife—well, Lucille always did the plotting, and I lived with the results. Guilt and self-hatred shoot through me and the pain brings me to my knees. I let out a scream most humans couldn't hear, but Edith stirs. I try to swallow it and get back to my feet. None of that, now, Thomas, no more of that—it hurts too bad.

I had survived in this marriage only by living in a constant state of self-delusion, where I could pretend Edith and I would be man and wife forever, and I could have a chance at a normal life, one in which intimacy wasn't the same as disgust. One in which Lucille was my sister and nothing more. One in which my sister's mind was healed, and we had found peace.

The one night I was intimate with my wife—over and over again that night at the depot—I learned love didn't automatically come with pain and sex didn't automatically come with shame and self-hatred. I loved her so much. I love her still.

She looks maybe...6 months. She must have married the doctor within weeks of my death, not that I can blame her for wanting to change the picture of marriage she undoubtedly held after me. Your husband tortures and kills you, don't you know, that's what happens if you marry a Sharpe...ouch, ow, ow, ow, stop. So strange that negative emotions equal pain as a ghost, and the more negative the emotion, the worse it hurts. The depth of my ability to despise myself has been leaving me in throes of torment since my new existence began.

I don't know how long it's been. I know I'm dead. I know I could still feel Edith's comforting hand on my cheek, despite being dead, and despite the intense pain still somehow coming from the knife wounds. When I realized the pain from the wounds was more emotional than physical, I gradually let it go. I found Lucille in the house, playing piano just like mother, and... did not even speak to her. I desired with every ounce of will I had left to be elsewhere and suddenly I was. I heard her calling my name desperately, but feared that if I turned back even for a second, I would never be able to get away.

From there, it's been a learning experience, first dealing with hunger pains that are never satisfied, and cold that can't be overcome by any fire. Searching all of England for Edith, knowing if I did find her, I would probably walk away before I even saw her. I have no right to see her. The things I did to her...Ow, ow, stop.

Then one day I realized I could be anywhere if I simply imagined where I wanted to go. I pictured her and was suddenly in her parents' home in Buffalo again, looking down at her as she tosses, turns, and frets. Of course she came home. Of course she did. I feel stupid for thinking she might have stayed in England. Of course she married. She's a beautiful, brilliant, vibrant young woman and a gifted writer, she could have any man she wanted, even if they didn't know about the fortune she inherited. But if she was married to Dr. McMichael, where was he? Shouldn't he be sleeping next to his wife at midnight? Maybe he's reading, or studying the chart of a particularly difficult patient. Why is she tossing around so much? It appears she has a lot on her mind.

But I don't have the right to even ponder this. She's no longer mine. Dammit! I clutch my side. I deserve this though. I deserve every spasm. She was mine for a time, and I hurt her, wounded her, destroyed her, nearly killed her...I deserve it, I deserve it, I deserve the pain, relish the anguish, I...

Suddenly golden hazel eyes open wide. And for the first time, I know a living breathing human being can see me. She gasps. "T...Thomas?"


	2. Chapter 2

Edith POV

I suppose I must have screamed because my throat is suddenly too sore to talk.

"I apologize for frightening you", he says, "No one else can see me, I didn't know that you would be able to."

"That's the first thing you say?", I spit, "My dead husband who tried to murder me suddenly appears in my bedroom nearly seven months after his death, and all you can say is you're sorry to scare me? Why are you here?"

He flinches at my words. Honestly, he looks terrible, even for the dead. He's white. I have studied my gifts since all this happened; to maintain my sanity I needed to find a way to explain what happened to me, and since then I've become an expert in ghosts and supernatural phenomena.

The murdered ghosts of Thomas's former wives at Crimson Peak were red from the soil, but also from their inability to forgive, and who could blame them of course. My mother was a black ghost, having died of black cholera, but also because she didn't want to be dead, had fought as hard as she could to stay with us, and still didn't accept her death. But Thomas, Thomas was white. He was sanguine with his death, he didn't fight it, and he had forgiven everyone but himself.

The wound on his face still gapes open and leaks ecoplasmic blood, as does the wound on his chest. His face is ravaged. His ghost is thinner than even he was in life. If I'm not careful, I'm going to feel sorry for him.

"I", he stutters, "Wanted to check on you. Make sure you're all right."

"If only you had shown such concern in life", I spit back, "I'm obviously fine. Now get out."

He still wears the finely made white linen shirt he wore the last time I saw him, along with black pants, clearly tailored on Savile Row.

"Of course, I apologize, Edith", he says, with a slight bow. "I just want to...congratulations on your condition. I'm happy you're married and well looked-after."

My hand flies protectively to stomach. "My child is none of your business", I spit.

"Of course not, of course not", he repeats, all well-bred manners, even in this preposterous situation. "I did not mean to alarm or offend you."

"Are you leaving? I know how to cast ghosts out now, with or without your cooperation, but I promise it will hurt without", I hiss.

"Of course I am, I'm sorry, deeply sorry again, Edith, so sorry, I..." My hands hold the covers over my body to the bottom of my chin. He's staring at my hands.

I drop the sheet and stare at whatever he's looking at. Pointedly at my left hand, which clearly bears no wedding ring.

"Seven months...", he repeats, suddenly distracted. Then he gasps loudly. "Oh, Edith..."

I could take anything but that. Anything but pity. I burst into a torrent of angry, bitter tears.

"Oh...oh my, I'm so sorry", he gasps again, "I didn't mean to upset you. Dr. McMichael surely..."

"Is not my husband", I say through gritted teeth, "Not that it's ANY concern of yours. I...FINE! I'll tell you—I haven't been in love with him since I was a girl, and he left for medical school in London, but he's always been my best friend and my savior, and thank God he was there to help me when you weren't..."

He flinches again.

"But I had no wish to marry him. Still...to give my child a needed father, I would have done so. He was still very interested in marrying me...but not if I continued this pregnancy. He thought the baby may...inherit things from you. Personality attributes. It's a new science, but he's becoming interested in genetics...you don't need to know all this, just know I'm doing fine. I have my inheritance, and the child will want for nothing", I tell him.

"Except a father", he says, downcast. That was part of why I fell in love with him so instantly—those tragically sad big blue eyes that seemed to hold a world of pain that needed to come to the surface.

"I just...can't believe he would make marrying you dependent on not having the child...he does love you", he says.

"Yes, but not enough", I say, quietly.

"May I ask why you didn't...I know it's difficult to find someone who can perform that operation safely, but not impossible, not for someone with your connections. Why would you...I know you hate me", he stutters.

"I don't hate you, Thomas", I spit, "I hate Lucille."

He jumps at the mere sound of her name.

"Please, please, don't say her name", he begs, as if the mere mention of her will make her appear.

"I'm angry with you. You tried to kill me, you would have let her kill me, you would have!", I yell.

"I take full responsibility for everything I have done. But on this, I have to set the record straight. I would never have let her kill you", he says.

"She was poisoning me for months and you let it happen!", I hiss.

"Yes", he confirms.

"You hurt me!"

"I did!"

"You tried to kill me!"

"I did!"

"You said you loved me!"

"I do!", he shouts, tears running down his own cheeks. "I didn't try to kill you, Edith, I would have given my life for you without a qualm."

"You did give your life for me", I say, quietly.

"It was my pleasure", he answers, and sits down on the bed. "I...didn't stop her poisoning you, but the entire time I was figuring out a way to get you away. When it came time to get your property and kill you, I stopped her. I'm not saying..."

"You think this makes you a saint?!", I shout, "You think this earns my forgiveness?!"

"Of course not", he answers, more tears dripping down his cheeks. "There is no forgiveness for what I've done, what I was willingly a part of. I am a monster. I know this. But I would never have let her kill you."

"It was so close, Thomas, you let her poison me, beat me, cut me, throw me off a balcony, murder my father..."

His head dips again and he holds his side.

"How can anything hurt you, you're dead!", I say, trying to hurt him myself.

"Emotional pain is...physical pain when you're dead", he says. That was something I didn't know.

"Please answer my question, Edith", he says. "I need to know."

"You have no right to ask anything of me!", I shout.

"You're right, I do not. But...if it is mine...are you going to...will you...destroy it...", he fumbles for words, his mouth open, his eyes wide.

"If I had desired to do that, I would have already. Keeping it cost me a potential husband already", I fume.

He breathes deeply. "I'm glad. Not about McMichael, about... I have no right to be, but I am."

"I wouldn't worry about having no right, Thomas, none of this was right from the start", I whisper.

"Let me help in whatever way I can. We didn't have much money put aside...", he starts.

"Obviously, that was my job", I hiss. "Though how you ran through the fortunes of three other women baffles me."

"You saw that house", he says, surprising me with his honest answer, "It was a money pit. The clay harvester was as bad."

"Anyway, what little I had is yours", he says, "Lu...she died with the ring on...or you could sell that."

"I told you I have enough, no thanks to you", I respond.

"You never told me why you're keeping..."

"You ask too many questions!", I yell.

"Edith, I'll never live again, I'll never touch again, I'll never feel warm again, I'll be in pain for all eternity, I know I deserve all that and more, but please grant me this small request I have no right to make, why, why did you keep my baby?", he asks.

His voice hitches on "my baby", and I tingle between my legs. My stomach flip flops. His baby. Thomas—my husband's—baby is growing inside me. I gasp, and try to force the feeling away, but the memory of his slim body writhing between my thighs, his deep kisses that felt like they were claiming my soul, the way he let me take charge in bed, the way I rode him all night...The intense arousal. The feeling of wanting to be his arms again more than I want to breathe. Damn him.

He instantly notices the change. "What's wrong?", he asks, worried, "Are you ill?"

"No. I...was remembering..."

"Oh Edith", he gasps, and I hear the sound of hope. The sound that I once treasured is now like a loud clang in an otherwise soft melody. I hate hope. It has no place in my life anymore. "I'm so sorry."

"You keep saying that like it's going to change something", I say.

"I'm sorry..."

We look at each other and laugh. That's when my tears start again. I relaxed for a second. "British manners", I kid, wiping away a tear, "You'd say sorry if someone cut your heart out."

"Well, not out...but it's certainly damaged", he says, patting his heart, "Cut to shreds, but...it still belongs to you."

"Oh Thomas", I weep.

"I can't hold you, I can't touch anyone again, but..." He reaches for me, and his hand connects with my back. We look at each other completely shocked.

"I should not have been able to do that. It's never happened before", he says, wide eyed.

Against my own will, I feel myself soften and very slowly collapse into his arms. He holds me close. He's cold, but the connection is there as it always was.

"My darling, my darling, I'm so sorry, I love you so much, my darling", he croons quietly, wetting my hair with his tears. "I'm here now. I'm here now. Let me protect me, as I wanted to do."

We sit there quietly, my head on his shoulder, stroking his back. "You have no idea how that feels", he sighs happily, "You have no idea how that feels, you're so warm. So warm."

Then I take his hand and act quickly before I change my mind, pressing his hand against the mound of my tummy where his child is kicking me hard.

He gasps, and desire shoots through me again. "Oh Edith, thank you! Thank you!"

"If it's any indication of how fat I'm getting, your son is plenty big and strong", I comment, leaning into his hand. He'll be gone soon, just let us have this moment. Just this moment.

"You're so beautiful", he says with a giggle, "So beautiful. You look exactly how I dreamed you would, you're perfect. Do you know it's a boy?"

"I have a feeling."

"I wanted a girl who looks like you", he comments, keeping his hand there.

"We get what we get in life", I say, coolness creeping back into my voice.

"Don't send me away", he begs, "I could help...somehow I could help..."

"What right do you have to be here?", I ask, sobbing again.

"None. But...at least let me pass on the title. It will help you, money and power can protect you. Please...people who know you married me know I'm dead?", I ask.

"I didn't tell anyone anything, I've been a recluse", I say.

"Were you...mourning me?", he asks.

I cup his face, slide my fingers down his long, crooked nose, across his high cheekbones, his thin lips—he slips my finger into his mouth and sucks. I can feel it, and gasp. My husband who could arouse me with one look.

"I was", I admit. "Mourning the man who tried to murder me."

"Never think that", he says, "However much I deserve it." He's holding his side again.

He's no longer white, he's sepia toned now, and I'm noticing it for the first time. He looks better, less...dead, less ravaged. It's almost as if he's healed a bit.

"Tell them I was killed trying to make the clay harvester work and you've been in the throes of grief for months, and cautious about your condition. You needn't marry anyone else, everyone will presume the child is mine. Our son will be the next Baronet Sharpe", he says. "Lucille is in the house."

I notice he doesn't flinch from saying her name this time. Now that he has something to fight for.

"But she could be removed", he says, and there is deep, deep hatred in his voice.

"Let her have the thing. I could never go back inside. Though I don't believe your other wives mean me harm", I state, and he nods.

"I have no other wives, Edith. They were women I married because I didn't know how to say no to my sister...you're my wife, Edith..."

"I'm exactly like the others...disposable to you...", I shout, "Oh God, I don't want to fight."

"You know someone will renovate it or knock it down...it won't stay that way long. The house", I say, trying to change the subject.

"None of you were disposable to me", he whispers. "I honor them. But they've informed me they have no desire to ever see me again, even to apologize, and I respect their choice. I cared for them, I still do, but I have only ever loved you. And I still do. Edith, I don't think we can sweep this under the rug..."

"Thomas..."

"Let me tell you the story. Let me tell you what happened, and how I got to the point of meeting you. I expect no forgiveness. But maybe some small part of you can understand."


	3. Chapter 3

Edith POV

"When did she start molesting you?", I ask.

He's quiet a moment. "I was five, and she was eight", he answers, clearing a block in his throat. "Our lives...Edith, were not like yours. Even after losing your mother, you had your father, who adored you. And mother loved you, loved you enough to warn you about me." He takes a deep breath. "My parents' marriage was arranged, which is fairly normal of course, especially in titled aristocracy. We are of course the very lowest level of titled aristocracy, with my father as a baronet, and my mother, the fifth daughter of a viscount with few prospects, never let him forget it."

I nod to encourage him to keep going.

"Father hated Mother. He had a terrible reputation with women, and his family was insisting he marry and produce an heir since he was still gallivanting around the world in his late thirties. My mother, Beatrice's, father was all too happy to get rid of an unwanted fifth female child, and was happy to get her married, even to marry down to a man with a terrible reputation. He put a moderate purse on her and arranged her marriage to my father, Baronet James William Sharpe, who needed the money to cover an outrageous amount of outstanding gambling debts, as well as all the money he threw away on mistresses. Father felt nothing for Mother but anger, and he repeatedly told me he found her too ugly to bed, but he forced himself to produce heirs—the force involved was the reason Lucille and I came out defective he told me."

I sigh and touch his hand. He jumps at the unexpected contact.

"Mother had children because it was expected; the woman didn't have a maternal bone in her body. Theresa was wet nurse to both Lucille and I, and we loved her like a mother. She had to be very careful though—we couldn't reveal how much we cared for her, or she for us, or mother would fire her from jealousy. When we were very little, we saw our mother for an hour or two each day, but as time went by, we were lucky to see her a couple of times a week. We were confined to the nursery, with thick walls that would muffle the sound of us playing and shouting, so we wouldn't interrupt her piano playing. If we were ever too loud, Mother would come up to the attic, and beat us both with her cane, then slap Theresa."

He goes on, "But when Father was home, it was worse. Mother simply avoided us as much as possible, jealous of Father's freedom to simply leave and be gone most of the time. At first she objected to his distance and his other women, but a broken jaw taught her to bear her anger in silence. We would hear the two of them in bed—her screams..." He squeezes his eyes shut. "It was terrible. I think Mother truly lost her mind then. Father put all his hopes on me, as his male heir, and ignored Lucille almost entirely. He wanted me to be very masculine, to play sports, to go hunting with him..." His voice breaks and he trails off. "But to me, men meant pain, so I was not very masculine, not as he wanted." How much it hurt him to talk this way was obvious.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Edith. It's all right, it's been quite some time. And so he hated me. He beat me. He strangled me one night until I passed out and he said, 'Good, now you're dead and my disappointment is over.' Lucille heard this. We were not allowed to go into the village, to meet other children, you have to understand, we were all we had. All my sister and I had was each other and we loved each other fiercely. I think that was the night Lucille decided to kill Father. But more years went by. Father wasted our money and soon the staff was let go, including our beloved Theresa. We cried, screamed, and begged, but Mother only truly enjoyed sending her away after she saw how much we loved the other woman. Theresa promised us letters, but mother destroyed them all if they ever arrived. Hated by her own husband, Mother was eager to hurt others as badly as she'd been hurt. Mother loved to beat me especially because I was a boy, and her hatred of males had become intense. Lucille took many of the beatings meant for me."

"She was eight when Lucille first...touched me. I only knew it felt good but wrong. It was confusing for something to feel so good and so bad at the same time. We became addicted to it. First I...in her hands. Then inside her. She would say she was breastfeeding me, and I would suckle her. She was the only kindness I knew. I noticed something hard and sharp in Lucille's mind. She would beg to go hunting with Father. Usually he would slap her when she asked, but once or twice he took her along just to try to embarrass me. She would always kill things, and come back looking happily at the warm blood on her hands. Father still simply dismissed her. It was about that time Lucille and I heard Father tell Mother he was going to kill me as I was his greatest disappointment. Something in his voice must have convinced Mother he was serious, because she exploded at him, screaming and raving about how much she hated him. He responded by throwing her down the stairs and stomping on her right leg, shattering it. By morning, Lucille was nursing Mother, and fixed Father a cup of tea. Our tea, but an enormous dose. He was dead the next day. Lucille had killed our father, but she had saved my life."

"Oh my God, Thomas. I'm sorry", I say. It would have been better in hell for those children than under the care of their parents.

"We buried him ourselves. At first, Mother was relieved he was dead, but his family soon cut us off from their funds, and we were even more impoverished. Lucille was twelve and I was nine. Mother came into the attic one night after her recovery and found us together intimately. She lost what was left of her mind. She screamed, raved, and beat us both until we couldn't walk. She said Lucille was going into a nunnery, and I would go to a military school, we would never see each other again. The idea of losing Lucille was like losing a mother, father, sister, lover, and best friend all at the same time. Mother was taking a bath when Lucille murdered her with an axe. From what I could see, she appeared to enjoy it..."

His head falls into his hands and he bursts into tears.

"There was so much blood", he continues, "Neither of us could lift the body. But we were in it together—the feeling that would define our relationship into adulthood- whatever we did, we were in it together, we were equally culpable, we could never turn our backs on each other..."

"But you weren't equally culpable, Thomas, you didn't kill anyone, or know she was going to kill anyone", I say. "She was trying to make sure you'd never leaving her by sharing her guilt with you."

"That would soon change", he remarks, holding his side again. "The police came. Lucille went into an institution, as the paper said. I went away to Eton, then Oxford. We came back together to live in the house, now in complete disrepair, as young adults. We had to find a way to survive. When we went into the village, Lucille noticed many young women...I suppose you would say flirting with me...they knew I had a title, presumed I had money I didn't, and were I presume, attracted to me. Lucille decided I needed to get married. I was surprised because we took up exactly where we left off together after mother's death. She crept into my bedroom the first night we were there together again. She hated men, except me, and refused to marry. I loved Lucille at that time, brotherly, romantically, she was all I had and I adored her. I didn't want to marry anyone else. But...she insisted a rich wife would solve our problems and we could be together behind the woman's back. I hated the idea, but Lucille said..."

"And she made sure you always did what she said", I provide.

"Yes", he answers, "In the meantime, I had become greatly interested in machines. While I wasn't the alpha male my father had wanted for a son, I always loved tinkering and had made little toys for Lucille growing up. Now I turned my attention to the worth of the red clay beneath the house, something my father had always neglected in favor of touring the world. We needed money, and I understood engineering. It seemed like a good plan. So we put the two together, we spent what little money we had left traveling to find investors for my clay harvester while Lucille found a likely woman for me to marry."


	4. Chapter 4

"We found both in Lady Pamela Upton in London", he says, his face falling into his hands. "She was older than I, but looked younger than she was because of her platinum blonde hair and cornflower colored eyes. She was confined to a wheelchair, having lost the use of her legs to a childhood fever. She was perfect—only child, no parents, few or no friends, perfect for Lucille's part of the plan which I was not yet aware of. I suppose Lucille thought there was little chance I would be attracted to her. I made Pamela believe I loved her; she agreed to the marriage almost instantaneously, not seeming to care that I was broke. So I married her, what was hers became mine, or perhaps more correctly, became Lucille's. We collected Pamela's inheritance, and I set to work investing in the harvester and trying to repair the house."

"I never touched her. That was the deal between Lucille and I—I could never touch them. Sex was something only for us. But it felt more wrong by the day. Pamela wanted a physical relationship with me; she even begged at one point. But I was young, egotistical, it only made me want her less...to shorten this story, I'll say a few years went by and the money ran out. It was clear we needed thousands, more than that, to make any headway repairing the house and trying to sell the clay. But Pamela was officially out of money, her inheritance had dried up, and despite letters sent at my prompting to her uncle, he refused to send her more for "her husband to waste."

"I went to London to speak to another possible investor. I was gone three days. When I returned, Lucille told me my wife was dead, that she had accidentally fallen down the stairs in her wheelchair and broken her neck. The body was buried by the time I got home, or so she told me at the time. She had actually hidden the body in a clay pool in the basement, the same place she and mother had hidden father's body, something that would become a habit for her."

"She was strangled", I provide, "Pamela must have been the ghost I saw crawling across the floor with the rope around her neck."

He flinches again. "Poor Pamela...I...as it turned out", he continues, "Pamela had more powerful friends and family than we thought. They did not believe Lucille's story, and were enraged that they were not told about Pamela's death or invited to the funeral. They couldn't prove anything, but we became outcasts in London society. We were not received by anyone. And so we had to search for an investor somewhere else..."

"Did you know Lucille had murdered Pamela?", I ask.

"That's a question I never wanted to face while I was alive. Part of me did. Was I fully aware of it, was I certain of it? No. Did part of me suspect? Yes", he says, sadly. "But Lucille was my everything..."

"She made sure she was", I add angrily, "Go on, in for a penny, in for a pound."

He swallows. "Edinburgh, Scotland, and Miss Margaret McDermott came into our lives. Margaret was also older than I, and had been married before. I decided to tell her before the wedding that I had no intention of consummating the marriage, and she was relieved to hear it, having had a dreadful marriage bed with her deceased husband. She was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, a step down society-wise, but we had little choice and had learned our lesson not to anger the ton with Pamela. Margaret had little interest in either the harvester or the house, she left that to Lucille. I tinkered in my workshop uninterrupted all day. I was friends with her, as I had been with Pamela, but we spent most of our time apart. This time it was less than a year when the money ran out, and the roof had caved in."

"In under a year, I came back from one of my trips away, and found an old scene replaying itself. While I had been gone, my wife died. This time I confronted Lucille. She told me not to ask, but I pushed it, and she confessed in a rage that Margaret had found out about us, so she'd struck the woman in the head with an iron candlestick. Lucille had Margaret's finger in her pocket—she'd cut it off to get her ring back..."

"Oh my God", I howl.

"Lucille convinced me to keep it quiet. Weren't we in this together? Didn't we both do this? Didn't she kill all those people—mother, father, Pamela, Margaret—because she loved me, so we could be together? She'd be sent away, I'd be hanged. She begged me, we were intimate and...I agreed, but my romantic feelings for Lucille were fading...and I knew I'd allowed her to kill Margaret by not voicing my suspicions about Pamela. I refused to marry again, but Lucille hounded me. We needed someone with more money, that was the problem, she said, if only we could find a woman who was immensely wealthy, we wouldn't keep running out of funds, and I wouldn't have to keep doing this. Lucille would never marry you understand. She'd seen what had happened in our parents' marriage and in my own. A woman had no rights. She would be little better than a dog, and sometimes less valuable than one to a husband, and she would have to be intimate with him, which she refused to do. I was the only who had to marry, and I had to do it again and again until I got it right."

"We abandoned the British Isles and went to the Continent. Paris first, which is beautiful. We found a few likely women, but Parisian fathers seemed wiser than the ones here, and never agreed once they found out I had no money to speak of. We tried Marseilles, every major city in France, and I met a few women I liked, but they were young and pretty, which removed them from consideration in Lucille's view. We went to Berlin, Madrid, even Moscow, but the women were rejected by either Lucille or myself for one reason or another. Women who stood to inherit were rare, but those who were going to inherit the amount we needed were rarer, and surrounded by protectors who made sure people like us never got close to them. Seven years went by in total, and we ran out of the last of Margaret's money. As far as we knew, the house may have fallen down while we had been abroad. After searching in Rome, we went to Milan on holiday, where I met Enola Sciotti..."

"Enola, who had luggage and keys stamped with her name, who had my initials, or I would be dead, I never would have worked all this out", I comment, and he looks down.

"You would not be dead, Edith!", he insists.

"Continue...", I say coldly and he sighs.

"Enola was a dark Italian beauty who was vivacious, intelligent, charming. She wanted to travel the world, and stood to inherit millions. Here was the key we'd been missing. If I married her, I would never have to do this again. Lucille wanted to say no to her because I liked her, because she was attractive, but the amount of money made it a done-deal if we could get her. She was interested despite my poverty, and too headstrong to listen to her lawyers."

"Sounds familiar", I comment.

"We wed. More about Enola will sound familiar to you. Her quick mind was instantly curious about the lower levels, something neither of the two other women bothered with once they were forbidden entry. They never asked Lucille for keys, as both of you did. Times were changing. The queen had been on her deathbed so many times, and after such a long reign, we wondered what the son would be like. Society was starting to open up a bit for women. The high-necked Victorian collars my mother wore in the 1880s were disappearing. Enola was a modern woman; we talked constantly of where we would like to travel. I know I could have fallen in love with Enola if I'd had time...but I did not..."


	5. Chapter 5

He looks down again, and I can tell he's swallowing severe physical pain.

"If you need to stop..."

"No, no. But it's about to get a lot worse..." We meet eyes. "Prepare yourself...I...Enola had a hot temper, and she was forever clashing with Lucille. They disagreed on everything. And Enola wondered aloud why I didn't force Lucille to marry and get out, since it was my house, and Enola was mistress there, not Lucille. I knew then Lucille would kill her...and I didn't know what to do. We had once again underestimated the woman's family. She may have been an only child with deceased parents, but her extended family was deeply involved in her affairs. No woman did anything independently in Italy. Her uncles were preventing the transfer of her estate. We received money, but it trickled in. Enola had to stay alive. I told Lucille she was crazy to want to kill the lady before we had even had the money, but Lucille was losing her ability to reason, she was getting sloppy. For Lucille, Enola had been a huge mistake. She was intelligent, headstrong, and worst of all, I truly cared for her. Lucille was afraid Enola would replace her in my affections. It was why I hid my regard for you for so long. My regard for a woman had become an instant death sentence as far as Lucille was concerned."

"But the fights with Lucille got worse. And then she figured the whole thing out, found the recordings, found the arsenic Lucille had been putting in her tea for months already without telling me. And Lucille fell pregnant at the same time. We used every precaution possible, but I suppose it was inevitable. Enola instantly knew it was mine. But by that time, she was too weak to run away..."

"Also sounds familiar", I interject.

"I begged Lucille to get rid of it. What was between us was...monstrous. How could a child we produced be anything else? But Lucille never saw it that way, she thought we were special, blessed, like ancient Romans who intermarried in families...she wouldn't listen to me, she wanted it desperately, she saw it as a way to tie me to her forever. The child was born wrong—mentally and physically deformed. We should have let nature take its course, but Lucille was merciless and desperate. She wouldn't hear of it. On her deathbed, Enola confessed she had training as a nurse from her mother who volunteered as one when the Papal states were sacked in 1866. She said she may be able to save the baby. I'm sure she saw an opportunity to survive. So Lucille agreed to stop poisoning every drop of food and drink Enola touched, to nurse her back to health, to save our child..."

He's shaking and he suddenly smells of the decaying blackened petals of a dead rose.

His breath comes out in spurts and he shakes, his voice trembling. It takes everything I have not to try to comfort him. "So the poor thing suffered for three weeks before it expired. Lucille was inconsolable. Enola knew what was coming, and tried to escape, so Lucille doubled her dose and killed her overnight. This time I watched her die rather being absent and coming back to an empty bed. Lucille was sick of my lack of active participation in our crimes...My child and my wife dead in 24 hours. It too much, and I told Lucille this was over, finished, I couldn't take it anymore. We were ghouls, with death and blood and bodies piling up. We both deserved to die. I told her so. I told her I welcomed the noose..."

"She slapped me over and over. Told me I was the weak link, I would end up giving us away and be responsible for her being locked in a mad house where she would kill herself. It was my fault. And wasn't that what Father had always told me? I was weak and stupid and not a man...a failure. I could never make anything work, I couldn't make that damn harvester work, my work, my income came from murdering innocent women..." He's doubled over with pain.

"Thomas, stop, that's enough", I say.

"It's not enough, it's never enough. I told Lucille I was done, we were through. She flew into a rage and then a panic. She tore handfuls of her hair out, she clawed at her own flesh. She wouldn't calm until I told her I didn't mean it that we were through, but that I intended on making money through harvesting clay and getting yet another investor, no more women. I found myself wishing she'd die...fall down the stairs, get sick, it didn't matter. She was a lodestone. You know the rest. I was looking for an investor in London when I found your friend, Alan McMichael, a recent med school grad who would never have the kind of money I needed until I found out his family was ridiculously wealthy. I got myself invited to a party, met Eunice, and Lucille set her sights on the girl immediately. Especially since she should could sense I disliked Eunice immediately."

"I told Lucille I would not marry her, but she pressured me constantly. I told her I would find investors. But America is not like Europe. There, my title counted for so much, here, it counted for nothing, and the fact that I was broke counted for everything. Suddenly I was competing against not only men of a singular bloodline, but self-made men who cared nothing for the right name and who had no time for fools like me, or so they saw me...so your father certainly did."

"And then I met you...and my world flipped upside down. From your first smile, the first words you penned in that story...Lucille was against it, and furious that I wouldn't admit why I wanted you. The more she suspected I had feelings for you, the more she wanted it to speed things up..."

"Yes, this part I remember", I bark.

"I loved you the first moment I saw you. And when you touched me..." He clutches my hands. "You healed me, Edith, you healed me. I didn't know there could be love that felt like this. When I met you on the landing, covered in blood, and you went after McMichael, when I went to confront my sister...I knew one of us would not leave that room alive. But...I owed her too much. I owed her everything..."


	6. Chapter 6

Edith POV

"Are you saying it was a choice between the two of you and you let her kill you?", I ask.

"I knew something would happen when I told her I loved you. I wanted us all to live together, and Lucille to be just my sister..."

"Do you honestly believe we could go back to playing house, and I would just move in with two people who tried to kill me?!", I bellow.

"I told you, Edith", he says, wiping away a tear, "I spent most of my time in a fantasy world. It was how I tolerated it all. I couldn't do it...I owed her too much..."

"You keep repeating that. Thomas, you didn't owe her anything. She destroyed your life. She was insane. Do you see that now, she was insane! Yes, she saved you from beatings, yes she saved you from your father, but it wasn't worth it, it came with a price tag of going along with whatever malignant nightmare she came up with next... you were nothing but a pawn on the chess board of a crazy woman!", I yell.

"It wasn't all her fault", he insists. "Our parents were horrors, and she took so many beatings meant for me, if I was tougher, if I had taken it, maybe she wouldn't have snapped..."

"Oh my God, Thomas, you're blaming yourself for what she became? Thomas, your parents were abusive narcissists, but they weren't murderers. People survive, believe it or not, worse than you did, and they don't turn into Lucille. What she became was her choice. She has you blaming yourself for everything. But she was what she was, Thomas. She was born wrong, her mind was wrong, and if she hadn't been so damn clever too, and didn't have YOU hiding her crimes, she'd have been caught a long time ago. You are at fault for cooperating with her, not for creating her", I insist.

He's silent a moment. "What are you saying?"

"It's not your fault. You were her victim too. What happened to her was not your fault", I insist.

He suddenly changes color again, the sepia fading into a healthier whitish-peach.

"Not my fault", he repeats, like a toddler discovering a new concept. "But... together we killed six people, including your father", he says, wiping away a tear.

"Did you know she was going to kill my father?", I growl.

"When your father confronted us..."

"He confronted you?!", I ask, amazed.

"Yes, he knew everything. I wasn't entirely lying when I said he paid me to leave. He did, but I left out that he had caught us. I still don't understand why he didn't go directly to the police. To protect you I suppose. I thought for sure Lucille would want to be on the next boat back home after that, but she considered it a challenge. She was so aggressive at that point, she was furious with your father for degrading and insulting her as she saw it. I went out to deliver the letter and your manuscript and left her at the hotel. The moment I was out the door, she apparently departed for your father's club and... when she returned, she told me what she had done, and to go back to the hotel. She was sure you were still in love with me and after that letter, you'd try to find me. That was my life, Edith...Lucille informed me of what she had done, or she told me what to do, and I reacted to it the best way I could."

"By protecting her..."

"We protected each other. We'd spent a lifetime doing it", he confirms. "I am a monster. I am the thing parents warn their children about at night, and the reason fathers are terrified for their daughters. But I saved you..." He gives me a sad smile. "I did one good thing. I saved you."

"Tell me what happened in that room", I prompt, "You literally had a blade sticking out of your sinus cavity." The ecoplasmic blood has disappeared.

"I couldn't kill her. I couldn't...I thought if she killed me her rage would be spent. She'd be too busy dealing with what she did to me to bother with you, and that you and McMichael would have time to escape. But once again, I underestimated my sister. She flew into a rage and went after you anyway...", he says.

"It's a lot to process", I say, leaning back against the pillows.

"Yes, it is. I don't blame you for despising me. I despise myself. But since I confessed everything...Edith please...tell me why you're still pregnant. Tell me why you want him...McMichael might be right. He might be like me. Weak and evil. Why...say it, Edith. If I still mean something to you, say it. You're everything to me." His hand pats and massages my belly. I pull away, but he holds me there, and when he feels the baby kick, he squeezes his eyes closed in bliss.

"Thomas, I'm nothing to you now. Not that I ever was...just money to build your machine", I whisper through tears.

"You're the love of my life. I adore you. I died for you. I'd do it again and again. I was never very good at lying to you, you'd know if I was now. You're carrying my child", he says possessively, splaying a huge hand across my abdomen. "Do you want my baby inside you? Do you want me inside you? Tell me, Edith, do you still have feelings for me despite everything I did to you? As someone who invented the concept, I don't want you to feel shame." I'm blinded by arousal, my legs opening against my will. I clear my throat and slam them closed. I'd wanted to make love with my handsome husband from the moment I'd met him, but I had such a hard time getting him to touch me. At least now I know why.

"Tell me Edith, please. Why, why...", he says musically against my ear.

"He was all I had left of you", I sob and fall into a torrent of tears. "I loved you through it all..."

"Oh Edith, my darling", he takes me in his arms and cry together. I can't imagine either of us has any liquid left inside us, but we still manage to sob together for what feels like ages.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry...", he moans. I notice though he can't keep his hands still, can't keep them off me.

"You paid for your crimes with your life, nothing else can be expected of anyone...", I say, and lose the battle not to touch him. I run my fingers through his thick black curls.

"Do you forgive me, even a little?", he asks, desperately.

"It doesn't matter if I forgive you, you're a white ghost, Thomas, you can move on to what's next unlike some of the dead...you must forgive yourself, and that's it...you can go into the light and be done with this hell on earth", I tell him. "Stop torturing yourself."

"It matters to me. I can't forgive myself, and I don't want to go on. I want to stay with you", he says. He seizes my hand and plants a kiss on my palm. "Please don't make me leave. Let me watch over you, help you, keep you safe."

I should hate him, I should despise him, I should send him away for eternity.

I open my arms. With a gasp of shock and bliss, he falls into my arms. I hold him close and kiss the top of his head. He allows himself to held like a child. Please heal his spirit, I say in my mind, to anyone or anything that might be listening. He can't go on like this. He's worthy of redemption. But is he to me? He holds me close and tucks my head under his chin.

"My sweet love, my darling, I love you so much, so much, please don't hate me, I'm so sorry...", he mumbles words into my hair and kisses my forehead over and over. In time, he stops. He's silent and solid when I drift off to sleep in his cold arms.


	7. Chapter 7

I jerk awake. Sunlight floods through the window, and my sheets are a tangle around my limbs. God Almighty, what a dream. It felt like he was here. My sheets even smell like him—a mix of musk, leather, tobacco, polished wood, and a vanilla oil that was rubbed into the saddle for his horse.

I stretch out, my hand going beneath the pillow next to me. My hand strikes something.

"Ow!", I shout, pulling my hand back. A drop of blood. I lift the pillow. A black rose is sitting beneath on a green vine covered with sharp thorns. Sharp.

I get up, and go about my day, making sure the staff are doing their jobs, and everyone is okay. Talking to my lawyers about the investments I've made with my father's money since I returned. Everything is going well. Helping polish the silver. And, of course, writing. I'm writing about my experience at Crimson Peak, though I changed all the names for my son's sake. I'm leaving out last night's experience so the audience won't think I'm crazy.

How did that rose wind up under my pillow? Was he really here? And if he was...did that make me happy, terrified, or a little bit of both?

I had never been so excited to go to bed in my life. I was lucky to get Annie back as a maid; she was intensely loyal to me and had been happy to be re-hired after I returned to the States to be chatelaine of my father's estate after Thomas's untimely death. That was all she knew.

She had never liked or trusted him. Turns out her judgement was far better than my own.

"Are you feeling well, Miss?", she asks, looking at me askance. It's difficult to hide anything from her.

"I'm fine, Annie, and you don't need to call me "miss" anymore..."

"I forgot again, I'm sorry!", she exclaims.

"I've been called worse", I joke.

"Mrs. Sharpe...", she starts.

"No, no ...Edith is fine...", I say. My skin crawls every time I hear that. It would technically be "Lady Sharpe" anyway, but the last thing Annie needs is to be scolded again right now.

"Are you sure? Are you a countess or something and I got it wrong?", she asks.

Finally something to make me laugh. I'm reminded of Thomas's lament from last night that he was the lowest of English aristocracy. A baronet didn't even have a seat in the house of Commons.

"No, no, Annie, no countess here. And even if I were, I'll always be an American..."

"Lady! Lady Sharpe!", she guesses correctly and my shoulders droop.

"Annie, please, just Edith...", I say.

"Can I go back to "Miss"?", she asks sheepishly.

"All right", I finally agree.

"It's good, you know", she says, "That you're back here with us. I knew a girl went to England for a while, all fancy like, but she said it was nothing but warm ale and cold baths."

I laugh out loud. "Thanks, Annie, I needed that laugh."

"Something happened to you...something bad...didn't it, Miss? You're...different", she says.

"Something, Annie, but it's time for bed."

"But it's early, Miss!"

"I'm a bit tired..."

"I knew it!", she exclaims. "I'll bring you some herbal tea with honey, no arguments!"

I laugh at her again. "Oh Annie, you make me smile again. And you're right, it was a big nothing with warm ale and cold baths."

Crawling under the covers, I remember my first night back here, how I sobbed with relief to be safe and home. How much easier it is to fall asleep in my father's relatively new, active, sunshine-filled mansion on a busy street, than in Thomas's enormous decrepit Allerdale Hall in the middle of nowhere where unfriendly eyes always followed you.

She brings the tea, and I bid her a good night, closing my eyes. If all this was a dream...I hope to have it again, but that never seems to happen, does it? I wait until the sun is completely gone outside, and it gets dark.

"Nothing but warm ale and cold baths, huh? I like to think we have a little more than that..."

I gasp and my eyes pop open.

"Like William Shakespeare. Canterbury Cathedral. The Magna Carta..."

"Are you following me around now?", I ask Thomas. "Listening to every word I say?"

"Not all the time", he says.

"I've never seen you playful", I comment.

"I never had the freedom to be", he says back. "But I feel...different than I did. You're healing me again...may I please?" He opens his arms.

"Thomas, this can't become a habit...you have to let go, go on to whatever is next for you..."

"Edith, I don't want to go on. You're alone and with child, my child, it's my duty to help you. At least let me stay until you have things better under control. Let me watch over you...I would die again, a thousand times, before I'd hurt you...please...", he begs.

I nod and he gets into bed with me, puts an arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

"Do you get the rose?", he asks.

"Yes, but why did you leave me a black rose?", I ask. "It was...foreboding to say the least."

He sighs. "It was red when I left it there. I'm so sorry if it bothered you. Apparently, I cannot be forgiven, even in the spirit world", he laments. I don't ask any more about that right now. I have some research to do.

"How was your day, my love?", he asks, and he looks too young and hopeful for me to argue with him. He's flesh-toned now, or at least close to the normal color of his skin, which was always very fair. I don't know what that means. I've never seen a ghost this color before.

"It was good. I got tired fast, but that's to be expected right now. Everything is going fine", I say.

"Tired? Do you need a doctor? I don't want you doing too much", he says, worriedly.

"I'm fine, Thomas, suddenly you're so worried, when before I got arsenic..." I stop myself. "Nevermind. Enough of that right now. I'm doing well."

"You're entitled to still be furious, Edith. And I'm glad to hear it. And how are you, my little chap?", he asks my belly, placing his hand there without asking. "Happy and warm?"

"Kicking up a storm", I correct. I snuggle into his arms involuntarily and he beams. But I shiver. Hazard of sharing a bed with the dead.

"I must be freezing! I'm so sorry!" He jumps up and runs to the fire, where he tries to warm himself. He said he couldn't get warm. He stands there for a minute, then runs back, and cuddles against me, and he's as warm as any person who had stood in front of the burning fragrant apple wood fire.

He places a warm hand on my belly and the baby quiets immediately. "That's all you needed, little one. To be warm. And to know your daddy's here. Daddy loves you both so much." He closes his eyes. "It won't be like it was for me. I promise. You need never be anyone but yourself. You've lost your father, little one, but he'll always be with you in your heart."

Tears run down my cheeks, and I press my face against his chest. His smell, the feel of him, so familiar. But in this different place, there is no shadow always over us. No sister and dead wives haunting my steps. He feels like the Thomas I was in love with when I lived in this house...before I knew, before everything, before Crimson Peak. When I thought we were going to be happy for the rest of our lives.

"May I?", he asks, and hops out of bed, then strips off his clothing, shoes and socks. I've also never seen a ghost able to do that before. "It's uncomfortable", he says, and peels them off as if they were stuck to his skin. Maybe they were. He gets back into bed, completely naked, and I try not to notice. It's not possible.

As if desperate for loving human contact, he wraps his 6'3 form around me, the long, narrow bare foot of a tall man hanging off the bed.

"Uvv you", he mumbles, face pressed against my breasts, his head under my chin, and squeezes me tighter.

Then he does another thing ghosts can't do. He snores.


	8. Chapter 8

Pounding on the door.

"I know he's in there...he's mine...MINE!" I'd recognize that voice anywhere. It haunts my days and nights. "Give him back, bitch! He's been mine since the day he was born! Open the door!"

My eyes pop open. It's morning, and I sigh with relief that Lucille is not really at my door. I'm sweating and shaking, and I throw off the heavy covers. Too hot, a ghost in my bed, no wonder I'm dreaming about her.

I'm clutching a pillow and he's gone again. Maybe he has to leave when the sun comes up, and yet he was listening to me yesterday, I just couldn't see him.

I spend the morning writing because I won't get time later. Today, I'm "at home" and can receive visitors this afternoon. I've avoided people since I moved back, but today I will be here. I promised myself I'd be more sociable.

At one o'clock, I hear a female voice at the door telling Annie "I'd like to leave my card for Mrs. Cushing Sharpe..."

"She's at home today! She'll see you in the parlor!", Annie exclaims happily.

"Is she really?!" The wife of father's lawyer—what was her name? Millicent. I always felt terrible sending her away from my door. I'm grateful she cares enough to keep checking on me.

Annie shows Millicent into the parlor and brings her tea.

"Millicent?", I ask, walking into the room.

"Edith!" She jumps up and hugs me. "We've all been so worried about you! Every time I tried to see you, your Annie would tell me you weren't seeing anyone, we were so worried."

"I've been keeping to myself", I say.

"Ah, I see", she says, looking over my plumper figure. "Do I understand correctly your young husband has died?"

"Yes, an accident with the machine he invented", I say.

"So young, so young!", she wails, "You poor darling, and only to find out you're carrying his child after his death! And his sister too?!"

Oh yeah.

"Yes, an automobile accident...she wasn't paying attention...distraught over his death, you see", I come up with quickly.

"A woman driving! No wonder! I detest those infernal cars, they'll kill hundreds, thousands even! Mark my words. Tell me what's so wrong with a good carriage. Oh you poor dear, so much tragedy!", she bellows. Poor Millicent seems to be lapping up my tragedy like a kitten with a saucer of milk.

"To think...that great tall, handsome Baronet Sharpe and then his sister that lovely black-haired woman with skin like marble, what was her name, Lady Sharpe, just after...", she wails.

"Miss Sharpe", I correct. The daughters and sisters of baronets do not get courtesy titles. I'm sure he always introduced her as "Lady Sharpe" because she insisted. Petty perhaps, but it makes me feel better. I swear I hear the tinkle of male laughter in the background.

Millicent goes through three cups of tea, and will leave only with a promise that I'll be available on my day "at home" next week. I promise. I'm bidding her farewell, but I see there's someone just pulling up in an automobile.

"I'm popular today", I joke, though I know some hostesses receive dozens of callers and entertain through the evening.

"No one has seen you for so long!", Millicent gushes. She steps to the side to see who is behind her.

"Oh Dr. McMichael!", she gushes again, "So wonderful to see you again. Thank you for calling on our poor, poor Edith! I'm sure you heard what became of that handsome young husband of hers! What a tragedy!"

Alan stares at me. He didn't say a word about anything all this time, and knows it would be my ruination.

"A tragedy", he says harshly, then smiles at Millicent. "Thank you for stopping by, I'm sure we can all be glad Edith seems to be improving."

Millicent winks at me and points to Alan, then heads off in her carriage.

"Edith", Alan starts as he walks in the door, and pulls me into his arms without warning. "I'm so sorry. You needed to concoct this story...for the child's sake I understand. The scandal would be insane..."

That's true enough.

"I want to apologize, Edith. I had no right to say what I did. That child is yours too. How could any child of yours be evil? You just...shocked me when you told me. I wasn't expecting that, I'm sure you weren't either. And with you so sure it's a boy, all I could see was that evil man in my mind...I...was boorish. Of course you weren't going to destroy it, it's your child. It was unfair to the point of cruelty to suggest what I did. I regret everything I said in anger and fear. Marry me Edith...marry me..." He squeezes me tight.

I stand still and let him hold me, as he gradually lets go.

"A surprise to be sure", I say.

"I'm sorry it's surprising to you that I'm doing the right thing, that's my fault. I'm ready to accept your child as my own, and we'll have plenty together. Marry me, Edith..." He reaches into his pocket and kneels down.

"Whoa, whoa...uh, thank you, Alan, thank you!", I hug him. "I need some time to process this."

"But I thought you wanted to marry me..."

Maybe it's the blonde hair and baby blue eyes, but he looks like a child told he can't have a cookie before supper.

"I'm sorry, Alan, I don't mean to frustrate you. But, I haven't been back long. You and I became involved instantly after...well you know after what, and then...the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was on my own again...", I start.

"I'm so sorry Edith! So sorry..."

"You know what I wish?! That men would stop apologizing and start doing the right thing to begin with!", I howl so someone else can hear.

"Wow, I'm sorry, Edith", he repeats. "I was taken aback by your news, that's all. I never stopped loving you. I've loved you since we were children."

"Yes, I loved you too, Alan. I wanted to marry you, and then you left for medical school in London and I had to learn to survive on my own. And I did learn. I don't need anyone..."

He smiles. "I know just how independent and modern you are, Edith, and I respect and admire that about you. This is about more than affection though. If it ever came out what happened with the Sharpes, you'd need a protector. Without a husband at your side, you'd be ruined."

"What you say is true", I agree, "But I don't know if I could marry for that reason."

"Then marry for this one", he says, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me deeply and thoroughly.

"Think about it", he adds, and walks out the door.

I sigh, turn around, and let out a yelp. Thomas is standing there.

"Someone needs to tell him to wait until you ASK to be kissed, and if you don't, I will!", he shouts.

"Like you wait to touch me until I ask you too?!" I bark, "And go away, it's the middle of the day, everyone will see you!"

"No, they'll just see you talking to yourself", he says, and it's not very reassuring.

"Thomas...we will discuss this later", I pronounce.

"He has no right to just touch you like that!", he shouts.

"And you have no rights with me at all! You forfeited those", I shout back.

"You're right", he agrees, but advances on me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I want to earn those rights back. Because I want the rights of a husband."

"Like?", I ask frigidly.

"The right to call you mine, to look after you, to be the ONLY man in your heart, the right to make you writhe beneath me, and call my name all night", he says, and walks away. "You're still Lady Sharpe as far as I'm concerned."

"I'm Edith Cushing. My husband is dead", I call after him.

"Dead, but not gone", he says, with a wink. "I fought my way back to you. Death couldn't stop me. I'll keep fighting for you until you tell me to leave."

I want to order him away right then and there. Out of my life, off my property, out of mind, out of my future, out of my child's future. But I just can't do it, and watch him walk away.


	9. Chapter 9

Edith POV

A month goes by and we share bed and board, but nothing else. He holds me all night and disappears in the morning.

I've managed to put off Alan, thinking about what I want to do, considering being his wife while I lay in bed with another man. And I've had two more dreams about Lucille. I feel like the walls are closing in.

"Alan came to see you today", Thomas says as he walks in on me sitting at my vanity, pinning diamonds in my ears.

"Are you going out?", he asks.

"Yes, there's a big party at the McMicheals tonight, similar to the one you attended. Eunice is engaged. Alan asked me to attend. He's right, I've been putting him off for too long. I owe him an answer", I state.

"Do you know what that answer will be?", he asks, unable to keep the nerves out of his voice.

"I'll know by the time I get there", I say. "I won't leave you hanging either."

"Edith, can't you just speak to him when you're next at home? A big party will have so many people who are sick with colds, even influenza, and you're pregnant...I don't want you to take the risk. Anything could happen during childbirth if you were ill, and the baby could be exposed. Not to mention...you're sooo pregnant. Edith...stay here", he says.

"I know the British are different, but this isn't 1850, and I'm not going to hide away like a recluse, like there's something wrong with me until I deliver. I'll be careful. No one will be sick", I say, rolling my eyes at him.

"Edith, I'm your husband, please listen to me", he says.

"My husband is dead." I hate when he gets high-handed like this. Like he owns me. "I'm considering marrying another man. You need to understand when your advice has been heard, but not wanted."

I'm wearing an ivory silk dress designed to accommodate a different figure, and throw a matching cape around my shoulders. "I promise I won't be long", I say, "We'll speak when I return." He pointedly stares at the low-cut neckline.

"Edith, I'm telling you not to do this", he says, shaking his head at me.

"You have no right to tell me anything", I bark.

"Don't I?", he whispers to himself.

"No!"

"You're mine, Edith!", he growls.

"I am not!", I hiss and storm out of the room.

The party is in full swing by the time I arrive. "Edith!" Alan throws his arms around me.

"Edith", his mother says, with a tight smile, "Nice to see you again. I have to thank you for distracting that...what was his name? Baronet Sharpe. Can you imagine if my Eunice had married him, and he died within a year of marriage? Oh you poor dear." She smirks at me.

"Mother, that's enough!", Alan barks at her.

"Alan, I'm simply expressing my sympathy. I'm sure my Eunice could help you find a suitable match..." She stares at my middle. "A terrible thing to be left alone with a child. A single mother. She's marrying into the Wideners, the finest family in Pennsylvania. I'm sure she could help you find someone once you get your figure back, but of course, not all men want to take on the burden of another man's child..."

"Mother!" Alan howls.

"That's all", she says, grinning.

"You won't have to see her, I promise", he says as she walks away. "I'm trying to get her to move to Pennsylvania to be with Eunice. The two of them have always been alike. But even if she stays in Buffalo, she's not going to be in our home." His voice is riddled with disgust.

"It's okay, Alan, I wasn't expecting the warmest of welcomes. I stole her daughter's fiancé, there's only so much any mother can take. Eunice and I were close when we were young, but her mother's influence was too strong, and she never liked me..."

"You were prettier competition for my sister", he whispers.

"Anyway..." I say, "I came prepared for worse than I got."

"I'm glad you're not upset. Dinner will be in about half an hour...now there's someone I'd like to introduce you to...an editor in New York", he says.

He takes my arm and leads me over to a group of men, who look at me warily.

"Douglas, this is the lady writer I was telling you about, who's working on the thriller...Edith, this is Douglas Tinsdale of Rupert Publishing..."

"Very nice to meet you." I hold out my hand, like any man...he looks askance for a moment, then shakes it.

"And you're...Lady Sharpe then?", he asks.

"Yes, I prefer Edith Cushing though", I say.

"But your title will be the draw. Selling a woman's book is a tenuous gamble at best, but you have the credentials to write about the old country, see...that's how we'll rope them in...", he goes on.

"Interesting", I say. There's no way I'm putting "Lady Sharpe" on this book.

"Oh yes, and it's a thriller? Murder?", he asks.

"Yes, yes, and ghosts", I say. Is it hot in here? I'm feeling a bit light-headed.

I look across the room and my mouth falls open. There... in the corner... is Thomas, dressed in white-tie no less, complete with white gloves, and spit-shined shoes, giving me the most sarcastic look I could possibly imagine. How dare he follow me here!

"Ghosts, interesting", Douglas laughs, "It needs lots of blood though, that's what readers pay for. Be sure to chop some heads off, Lady Sharpe."

In my mind, I can see still it all...my blood, Thomas's blood, Lucille's blood, all those dead women...I sway on my feet.

"They like trails of blood", Douglas goes on.

"I'm sure Edith can accommodate what your readers are looking for", Alan comments.

The look on Thomas's face changes from challenging to terrified. He rushes over to me.

"I told you not to come", he hisses. "You're obviously exhausted."

"Oh shut up, Thomas", I hiss back.

Everyone stares. "I'm sorry, what? Did you just tell me to shut up?", the publisher asks.

"No!", I shout.

"No!", Alan adds, looking at me askance.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Tinsdale, I'm not feeling so well", I say.

"Apparently", he laughs. "Now give me a bit of the plot..."

Thomas wraps his arms around me and holds me on my feet. "Stop giving yourself away", he says, "No one but you could ever see or hear me. I told you to stay home for a reason."

I shake him off, and shove him away quietly. "An innocent woman goes to England to marry, only to wind up the victim of an EVIL MAN...", I spit out.

"My audience will love that", Douglas claps his hands, "Does he kill her?"

"Oh he tries, Mr. Tinsdale", I spit.

"Wonderful start, Lady Sharpe", he says.

Thomas looks furious. "There seems to be some confusion", my dead husband growls, "Are you Lady Sharpe or are you not?", he hisses. "Because this man seems to be suffering under a misapprehension if you are not. If you are...make no mistake who you belong to."

I shake him off again.

"What happens next?", the publisher asks.

"The man and his sister, you see, they murdered a series of women...um, chopped them up into little pieces...lots of blood, Mr. Tinsdale...", I say. Thomas's jaw hits the floor. He closes his mouth, and I have never seen him look like this. I can feel the fury emanating off him, and he seems to be changing color. I swallow hard.

"He hates his wife for not being his sister, you see", I say, "So he gives her to his sister, who did terrible things to him as a child, and together they try to kill her...the man...he feels nothing for his wife. Nothing at all. She was a source of money to them."

"But she escapes?", Douglas asks.

"Oh yes, no help from him of course. She escapes by her own wiles and the help of a doctor friend of hers from America who knew something was wrong", I state.

"Interesting...and... you're okay with using "Lady Sharpe"?

Thomas, who is shaking with fury, looks at me expectantly.

"Umm...my name is Edith Cushing...", I say quietly.

"But I need that title. Are you also Lady Sharpe? I mean, can you publish under that name? That's you, right?", Douglas pushes.

"Yes", I agree and suddenly the room goes dark.

Women let out some small screams. "Relax now, relax now, the candles have simply gone out..." I hear Alan reassure everyone.

The chandelier sways back and forth and the tinkling of the glass pendalogues can be heard. A ghostly voice cackles. Screams get louder.

"Alan, what is it?", I hear his mother yell, suddenly at his side.

"Stay calm", he orders, but it's too late. The guests are running around.

Alan puts his arm around me and pulls me close to him. "Edith, let's get you out of this room...I'm not going to allow my wife to be injured in a panic."

The last straw apparently. A ghastly howl goes up and the chandelier crashes to the floor. People run in every direction, and thankfully it missed hitting anyone.

Lit candlesticks are hurled across the room. The table is upended, and a silver soup tureen goes flying across the room. People run for the exit.

"Thomas, stop this!", I shout. Alan's head whips around and he looks at me. Chairs move across the room by themselves. The candles flicker. An enormous boom and a bookshelf crashes to the ground.

Suddenly, a man runs into me and the thud knocks me off my feet. Before I hit the floor, I'm in someone's arms and suddenly in a different room that is still lit.

I open my eyes, and Thomas is carrying me. "Are you all right?", he asks, panicked and terrified, "Are you hurt? How is the baby? My God, Edith, I'm so sorry...are you hurt?"

"Get the hell away from me!", I scream and pull away from him. He sets me on my feet. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"What is the matter with you, Edith? Blood, heads cut off, really?! No more, LADY SHARPE", he booms. "You're mine then after all."

"I'm not!"

He seizes me and holds me against him. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. I've never ever been this afraid of him before. Not when I found out he was helping his sister poison me. Not ever.

"He called you his wife! You're not. You are MINE. You're my WIFE..." He runs his hands through my hair, taking down the bun. "These glorious tresses are mine, this perfect face is mine..." He grabs my middle and I yell. "This big belly and its contents are mine, despite your desire to put them on public display!", he hisses, "And these you paraded around all night...", he shouts, squeezing my breasts, "These big, heavy, milk-filled breasts that the good doctor couldn't stop slobbering over are mine, and it's a good thing because I've been starving for months!"

I haul back and slap him as hard as I can.

"You're no gentleman!", I scream.

"And you are no lady", he adds, "Blood indeed. You're publishing the story of my past that I told you in CONFIDENCE for money? You should have told me you were so hard up."

I haul back again, but he catches my hand.

"Writers write what they know", I defend myself, "And I know a lot of terrible things thanks to you."

He steps back like I slapped him again. "Don't worry, they'll pay you richly for them. And who knows what else...dressed as you are..."

"You son of a bitch!", I howl. "We're from two different worlds. You hate that I'm a modern woman..."

"For God sake, Edith, I always supported your writing and you being an author. I always was proud of your independence, but this is too much", he yells.

"You think I belong to you!", I scream.

"Apparently, you'll never believe you do without a demonstration", he hisses and everything goes dark.

Moments later we're out of Alan's house and in my own. I'm in my bedroom when Thomas walks in. And slams the door behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Edith POV

Warning: Rated M

The moment after he's slammed the door, he charges toward me like a tank.

"Thomas, no!" I shout, holding up a hand, but it's like trying to hold back a force of nature.

"I want you, Edith. You're my wife. And I'm sick of begging", he says, and sweeps me up in his arms, and tosses me on the bed.

"Stop! Stop!", I scream, and punch him, slapping at his hands, his chest. I fight him as hard as I can as lay me down on the bed, and lowers himself down on top of me.

"You could get rid of me easily, Edith. You know how. You're the living, I'm just the dead, you're in charge. Banish me from your home...tell me to go, force me to go, and you'll never see me again", he says, before seizing my lips with his own.

I lock my lips closed, but his tongue squeezes past them and I find myself opening for him, pulling his tongue into my mouth. I remember this. I remember his kisses so clearly.

"Stop", I insist again. "I want to talk."

"No more talking", he says, kissing down my chest.

"If you want to get rid of me, do it, get an exorcist, send me to hell, and bring us both some peace", he says.

I honestly consider it for a moment. I can banish him right now. But the words keep dying on my lips.

"You're a boor!", I yell, "A brute and a monster!" I keep trying to push him away.

"I am a monster, Edith", he agrees. "I am a ghost, I am a demon." His eyes flash bright red, and he breathes hot air down my chest.

I scream, but he seizes my lips and the sound disappears. "A demon who worships only you", he mumbles.

"Thomas..."

"If I could go back and change what happened, I would do anything, including lose you forever, to make that happen. If I could die for you again, I would. I would do anything for you to forgive me, for you to unlearn what I taught you about just how evil human beings can be to each other. But I can't. This is who we are. This is who I am. I pay for my crime with you every day, and I don't complain. But don't ask me not to be jealous. I love you!", he cries out

I hold his face and pull him into a kiss.

"And I love you", I say, "I love you."

"I love you!"

"I love you!"

He struggles with my gown, then tears it down the center and tosses it aside. I'm completely naked and he looks me up and down. "No statue, no art, could capture your beauty, or the paleness of your skin."

"My gown?", I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"You were barely wearing that anyway", he says sarcastically, his lips returning to my neck.

"Asshole", I whisper and he smacks my butt. I jump.

"You never used to curse, Edith."

"I never had reason to before I met you", I answer.

He lifts my leg and stretches it out, balancing it on his shoulder, his kisses my heel, my ankle, all the way up to my thigh.

His head dips between my legs. I rock hard against his body, trying to push to my clitoris against him, trying to cum, and he laughs.

"Calm down, sweeting, relax. We have all the time in the world", he says, settling his trim form between my legs. I run my hands up and down his muscled arms. He's too tall to fit completely on the bed.

He dips his face between my thighs and kisses, then bites, as he did once before. As he moves forward, he licks me.

I gasp. "Oh my God, oh Thomas, oh, what are you doing?", I pant. I can feel his haughty smile against my bare thigh before I see it.

"I see you don't hate that", he jokes, then licks again. Did you do this with...her? Yes, I think it, though I wish I hadn't, and if I needed evidence he can read my mind, he says, "Never" and licks with his entire tongue.

I gasp again and clutch the pillows. I've never felt anything like this. His tongue enters me and I scream.

"Shhhh, your house full of staff will hear us", he says from between my thighs. His tongue, followed by his impressive nose, then both together, enter me gently.

Then he sucks my clit into his mouth and sucks again and again and again...stronger and strong.

"Oh, no, Thomas, stop. Stop. I can't...take it. I can't...oh, don't you dare stop...oh God, yes, Thomas, Thomas...", I bellow out and cum hard in his mouth.

"Again, I think", he says, sucking again and I cum quickly again and again.

He licks up my hips and kisses across my belly. "You're so beautiful, Edith, and even more so now...you look so feminine. So insanely beautiful", he sighs, burying his face in my middle, back up to breasts, and up my neck. "You have a demon for a father", he says to the baby, "But I was defeated by an angel."

He seizes a nipple and sucks. A look of complete astonishment is on his face, and he swallows, a bit of milk on his lip.

"But you haven't delivered yet, this can't be, this is impossible", he says, in amazement, then dips his head back down and sucks again. "I've been hungry for nearly eight months, Edith, you have no idea what you taste like", he says, drinking again. "I'm starving, Edith, please don't ask me to stop. Please..." He can't stop. He sucks until he drains one breast, then the other, massaging each breast like an infant.

"Bigger", he says, squeezing gently and fondling them both. "Your body is so remarkable. You nourish me, body and soul, you always did."

I move my hands down his throat as he swallows, down to his stomach. I hold his head to my breast, and run my fingers through his dark curls as he drinks. His fast hips are rocking against me, and mine are jumping to meet his.

I want to ask him if he can do this. He's dead...how can anything living come from him? How did he drink, for that matter? But neither of us says a word, we're terrified of breaking the spell.

He kisses me and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling my knees up. He positions himself, then pleads, "Help me, my love", and I guide his long, thick member inside me. He pushes against me and I cry out.

"Welcome home", I whisper against his hair and he pushes deep with each stroke over and over for what feels like an eternity. He cries out that he loves me as he cums hard, twice.

"My angel, my angel", he murmurs, kissing my forehead. "Tell me you're mine. Please, please, please tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours", I say, "And you are mine."

"I was yours from the first time I saw you", he says.

"Don't leave. I need you", I ask.

"Oh Edith, say that again, say it again..."

"I need you", I say.

"Tell me I'm your husband."

"You're my husband. I need you and I love you", I promise him.

He begins to pull out of me, and I stop him.

"Stay, stay, please..." I run my bare foot down his bottom.

"With pleasure, Lady Sharpe", he answers, shifting his weight onto the mattress but staying on top of me.

He drifts off to sleep, and we wake several times in the night and make love. I'm astonished to wake to the sun pouring in the window, and Thomas still here, the pair of us in a tangle of limbs and rumpled linen sheets.

"Oh ow", he moans, rubbing his head, then a shoulder, "I hurt all over. My emotions must have been out of control last night."

"Wild", I add.

He peeks shyly at me over the covers. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad was I?"

"A 12!"

"Noooo!", he moans.

"You destroyed part of their house—the bookcase, the chandelier..."

His memory slowly returns. "Oh...I will pay. I will get it all fixed, I swear."

"You have quite a temper, Baronet Sharpe."

"And you have a wonderful ability to trigger it. You and that doctor of yours, the moment he called you his wife, I...", he starts.

"Relax, you're getting all uptight again. I don't want to talk Dr. Alan McMichael. I don't want to talk about anything at all..." I pull him into a kiss.

Loud banging on the front door breaks up our reverie. I jump up and look out the stained-glass window to the front door, where Alan himself is banging. "Open up, Edith! You're going to tell me what happened last night, and if that bastard is back, or I'm going to break down the door!"


	11. Chapter 11

Loud banging on the front door breaks up our reverie. I jump up and look out the stained-glass window to the front door, where Alan himself is banging. "Open up, Edith! You're going to tell me what happened last night, and if that bastard is back, or I'm going to break down the door!"

"I have to go talk to him", I say, but Thomas tries to hold me back.

"Annie will let him right in, and I need to explain what happened", I go on.

"But you don't know what happened. Not really", he says. "You need to understand things better before you try to talk to anyone else. And I don't...trust him with you."

My shoulders fall and I raise an eyebrow at him. "He'd say the same about you."

"With reason, I know. But this is your home, and only women live here now, you don't have to rush out of bed at the crack of dawn to go talk to him. He knows better", he says.

"He's worried for me, Thomas. I have to go talk to him...what am I going to say?"

"I don't suppose he'd believe he imagined the whole thing?", he asks, with a wry grin.

"After all his guests ran out of the house and his mother and sister have likely been giving him hell about me since last night? I doubt it."

"Well, then I have to speak to him myself..."

"Thomas, no! He hates you..."

"And I understand why", he says, "He has every right to. But I have to make him understand that you're safe with me."

"He will never believe that", I say.

"Do you believe it?", he asks, looking like that little boy again.

"Yes", I tell him, falling into his arms. He sighs, relieved, holding me close.

"Don't go down there. Don't...go", he whispers into my hair.

I giggle against his chest. "Thomas, I'm literally walking down the staircase, like I do every day. I'm not leaving you."

"Promise?" He cups my face with his hands. "Promise you won't run right out the door with him. I know he'll profess his love for you. Maybe you're better off with him...I have nothing to give. Not even a life anymore."

"Thomas!" I stroke his cheek, amazed that I can touch him. He's getting warmer by the day. "I love you, I always have."

"Still...", he says. His liquid sapphire colored eyes always draw me in. He could always look like an angel when he acting the most like a devil.

"I'll be back", I say and capture his lips in a fierce kiss before he can argue with me.

As I walk out the bedroom door, he calls to me, "He'll never let you go."

I throw on my velvet dressing gown and come down the stairs.

Alan is dusting himself off on the foyer. "I told him you were not awake, much less receiving visitors, but he was most insistent on coming in", Annie fumes.

"It's all right, Annie", I reassure her and leaves quickly, glaring at the doctor.

"Alan...I'm at home on Tuesdays, what bring you to my door so early this morning?", I ask.

Hi jaw drops, then he closes it with a sharp noise. "You're going to play that game with me, Edith? Really? After everything we've been through together? After last night? What was that?! Was that him?"

"Who?", I ask, innocently, shaking my hair out of my face.

He rolls his eyes and slams his palm into the doorjam.

"Yes", I answer. "It was Thomas Sharpe, or what's left of him."

"I thought he was dead?!", Alan booms, "You could see his ghost, I couldn't!"

"Calm down, Alan, he is dead. I'm talking about his ghost. Have you ever known the living to drop chandeliers, toss chairs, and make the wind howl through a home with closed doors?", I ask rhetorically.

"My God, Edith! You should have said something sooner! I know a man. He's done this for years...he's in this group that I meet with...a ghost hunters anonymous kind of thing..."

"Ghost hunters anonymous?", I laugh.

"This isn't funny Edith! He's dangerous! This man...he's an exorcist...he can help you. I'll get in contact with him and bring him out here; he can get rid of anything, even demons, Thomas will have to leave...did he come back here with you? Last night?"

"Alan...stop..."

"Were you here locked up with him the entire night?! Has he been here longer?! Oh my God, Edith, I'm so sorry I didn't come last night. I'll go upstairs with you and help you pack, I won't leave you alone for a moment..."

"Alan..."

"And you will be staying with me until I can get my friend to cleanse this place. I cannot let you stay here alone under that man's influence...oh my God, Edith...after everything he did? Let's get you a bag packed quickly. I'll come back for the rest..."

"Alan!"

He's silent. "What, Edith?"

"He came without my invitation."

"Well, of course...", he starts again.

"But he has one to stay", I finish.

"No, no, no Edith. No. I understand some part of you missed him, and that you're carrying his..." He eyes my stomach, but stops. "That's no reason to get involved with him again. Did you learn nothing?! Brainwashed. All the more reason to get you out of here fast..."

"Alan, do you ever let anyone else get a word in edgewise?", I shout and instantly regret it. "I'm sorry", I add, "You saved my life. You're my best friend."

"You don't ever have to apologize to me, Edith. I don't want to hear you say 'sorry', I want to hear you say 'yes.' To marrying me", he says, looking deeply into my eyes. "We can sell this place and mine. My mother agreed to move to Pennsylvania with Eunice. Buy a new place, a nice big place, plenty of room for kids", he says.

I can't say his offer isn't a good one, it's a great one, one a woman like me shouldn't really be getting. A handsome, wealthy, doctor, never married before, willing not only to marry a woman who isn't a virgin, but to take in the child of another man. An insane man. And I know how much he loves me. He rescued me! What did Thomas ever do but cause me pain? I would be happy with Alan. Happy enough anyway. And if Thomas hadn't come back, I would probably be saying 'yes' right now. Alan is alive and breathing and can help care for my child. When this comes to end, and Thomas moves on, I will have nothing. Maybe I should still say yes...

"I...", I start, but the words won't come. "Don't need an exorcist."

"Edith..." he reaches out and takes my arm. "Edith, please don't fight me on this. I know what's best for you."

"I need time, Alan. I need to think", I protest.

"In this house with him? No. No, Edith. I'm not leaving you alone with him", he states flatly.

"Give me time, Alan. I need to talk to him. I need to find out where we stand."

"Edith, he'll kill you!", he yells.

"No, he won't. He couldn't even if he wanted to, and he doesn't want to..."

"Since when?", he Alan barks.

"Since always actually, but..."

"He has you buying his lies, he has you completely brainwashed! Again!", Alan yells, and grabs my wrist. "I'm taking you out of here right now!"

"No, Alan. No! Let me go! No! Let go!"

"Trust me, Edith, I know how to protect you", he answers.

"Let go!"

"You're coming to my house right now!"

"I said let go! Alan, you're hurting me! Please. Let go!"

"I've told Edith I can't harm anyone in this form. But if you don't release my wife, we're going to find out."

We both turn our heads and see Thomas standing on the landing at the top of the stairs.

"You son of a bitch! You!", Alan snarls, pointing his finger in Thomas's direction.

"You can see him?!", I gasp.

"You did this. Trying to murder her once wasn't enough, you're back for more?", Alan howls.

"I will...forever", Thomas starts in that way of his where he talks so slowly in that lovely accent, making sure you're paying attention. "Be grateful to you, Dr. McMichael. For saving Edith. For distracting Lucille. I cannot hate you. You're more entitled to my wife than I am, and still, I cannot hate you." He slowly walks down the stairs, one step at a time. "In my own way, I love you for loving Edith enough to come save her, and put an end to the horrific scenario I'd been living. You allowed me to defeat Lucille and allow Edith to escape..."

"Yeah, you defeated her all right, she killed you!", Alan hisses sarcastically.

Thomas casts a frigid, expressionless glare at Alan that belies his insistence that he loves the man. Alan may have forgotten Thomas is a dangerous man. I haven't.

Thomas gathers himself and continues. "I believed if Lucille killed me, she would be too distracted with what she'd done to care about you anymore, either of you, but I was wrong."

"Why can he see you?", I ask Thomas, but he doesn't answer me, just lovingly runs his fingers through my hair and keeps walking.

"I will forever be grateful to you, Dr. McMichael. But you will take your hands off my wife. She's asked, she's begged, she's insisted, and now I must insist as well", Thomas states.

"My God, you're so smooth. You try to murder this woman and still have the audacity to think you have rights where she's concerned. You appear to have no shame at all. She's not your wife anymore, Sharpe, you're dead. She's about to be mine. Your day is done, and you're going to hell where you belong", Alan hisses.

"Dr. McMichael, I really have to...", Thomas starts.

"Fuck you!", Alan screams.

Thomas raises his hand and flings it outward. Alan flies out the door and lands on the sidewalk. Thomas waves his hand again and the front door slams closed. "Insist that you leave", he finishes.

Alan immediately starts banging on the door again. "Let me in! Let me in! Edith! Edith! I'll be back. With help." He climbs into his model-T and nearly stalls it out he zooms away so fast.

"He will be back", I say.

"I have no doubt", Thomas says. "But we need to have that talk you told him you wanted to have with me. I need to know what changed between your bedroom and downstairs."

"Thomas, he'll be back. With an exorcist...", I yell.

"So I heard." Thomas smiles indulgently. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "So he's changed his mind. He wants to marry you regardless of my son."

"Yes", I say.

"And you're considering it..."

"Thomas, i..." He holds up a hand.

"Don't lie to me, Edith. I take anything but that", he says.

"I suppose I am. He's...alive", I comment.

"A salient point", he says, and tries to smile again, but just can't.

I reach from for him, but he steps away from me. I try to touch him, but he won't allow it. The loss is immediate. Cold and painful. I want to be in his arms again.

"Thomas, please don't pull away from me..."

"Edith, you're killing me again", he sighs, "You must decide what you want."

"Thomas..." I reach for him.

"No", he insists.

"Please..."

"Dammit", he hisses, and sweeps me up in his arms, carrying me up the stairs.

He settles me in his lap in a rocking chair near my bed.

"I asked you not to go down there for a reason. You don't know what you want", he says.

"I want to know how long you can stay. I want to know when you move on, and what happens to my child and I when you do. Are we alone forever?", I ask.

"Death is temporary, just like life. And it cannot stand up to the kind of love we have", he whispers, pulling me into a kiss.

"Beautifully stated. But that doesn't help me. You can't be alive. I don't want to be dead.", I insist.

"I should certainly hope not", he barks.

"Where does that leave us? Pragmatically?", I ask.

"You were always the realist", he insists, kissing the top of my head.

"And will Alan's exorcist remove you for good?", I ask.

"I think that mostly depends on how badly you want me to stay", he answers. "You're the homeowner, not Alan, or his mystery exorcist, even if he's the real deal and the odds of that are low. If you want me to leave, Edith, all you ever had to do was ask."

"I want you to stay. I wish you were alive", I say, sobbing into finely made, but old, white linen shirt.

"You have no idea how badly I wish that", he answers, wiping away a tear. "Ow", he says against his own will, holding his side.

"Thomas, stop. Don't get so sad, don't get so angry...don't..." I stop.

"You see? You can't ask of me what you can't do yourself", he answers.

"No. But we have this moment. And this one. And this one..." I say. He picks me up and carries me to the bed.

"I don't need a preacher or the law or an exorcist or Alan McMichael to tell me if you're my wife", he says, settling his trim form between my thighs. "I know you are."

I lace my fingers through his dark curls and pull his lips to mine. And someone watches.


	12. Chapter 12

Edith POV

I'm straddling him, my husband buried deep inside me, kissing him while he unravels my hair and it falls down my back.

He presses a hand over his nose like a skunk passed by.

"I bathed last night", I protest.

He laughs. "You smell like him", he groans.

"Seriously?! You can smell him on me?"

"Yes", he groans again. He holds my arm to his nose. "Especially there, where he grabbed you."

"I can wash", I suggest.

"No", he fumes, "I just...I don't want him touching you again. Him or any other man. You're mine."

I raise an eyebrow. "Um, can we be a little less possessive please? I'm no one's but my own. I have forgiven you, Thomas. I never thought I would be able to. NEVER. But that's different than giving you control again. I think I would have to be mad to do that."

"I understand", he says. "I don't want to control you, just to look at how perfect you are."

"Ha!", I shout.

He runs his hands down my bare back, tickling my sides, coming around to the front to press his hand against my belly.

"I adore you", he says, "I dreamed of this...and never got it. And thank you. For forgiving me. I don't deserve it."

"If I thought you didn't, I wouldn't", I comment.

"Always so direct", he says, "Always so different."

He rocks his hips twice and I gasp as he buries himself deeper. Alan was right when he called this man smooth. Sitting here, lounging against my pillows, pressed against me, deep inside me, no one could look more at ease than Thomas Sharpe. Naked, he has not a self-conscious bone in his body. His large hands and long fingers trail down my sides, then cup my bottom.

"Bounce up a little, that's my girl", he says and lets out an "mmmm" as he rocks against me. Together we find our rhythm again. So very slow. He's in no hurry. We could be here all day.

I kiss the tip of his nose and he laughs and pulls me harder against him.

More gently than I could have imagined possible, he swoops me up in his arms and in seconds, I'm lying in the bed on my back and he is on top of me.

"Mine, mine, mine...", he growls softly, kissing down my chest.

"I thought we were going to practice being less possessive", I suggest, coming up for air from his kisses.

"I did..."

"For fifteen seconds?", I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"It's only gotten worse since I...since I died. It's only gotten worse, it's only gotten worse", he repeats, kissing down my chest, my breasts, my stomach. "You're so...fragile, and I truly understood it while I watched you get weaker and weaker, coughing up blood..." He stops. "I nearly destroyed you, at least I allowed you to be. I...hurt you..."

"Is this only guilt, Thomas?"

"Guilt? The emotion that has driven my entire existence. Do I feel guilty for what I did to you? I will never stop. But is that why I'm here? No. No. I love you, I adore you. I want you. You and my child are my life, my life, please...let me stay...let us try to have the kind of marriage I wanted with you from the first moment I saw you."

I lock my fingers through his black curls. "I love you, Thomas. Maybe I'm crazy, but I do", I say, pulling him into a kiss.

I wrap my legs around his slim waist and rub a bare foot on his plump bottom. It seems like he's only gotten stronger since he died. He pulls me down the bed with one hand and pushes inside me.

"I'm home", he moans. "Anywhere you are is my home."

We make love and fall asleep in each other's arms.

The sound of a woman weeping as if her heart was broken rings through my ears.

"You've bewitched him", she wails, "You've bewitched him! It's the only explanation."

I know that voice.

"Thomas has only ever loved one woman. One. One person really. We formed in the same womb. We grew up in the same nursery. We were nurtured by the same monsters. We are ONE. You should have seen him when he was little. He was perfect. So beautiful. Palest skin you've ever seen, so thin and luminous, you could see through it. His hair was made of cool black ringlets without a drop of warmth, the shiny color of coal. Enormous sapphire eyes. I didn't understand how our father could strangle him, how our mother could beat him so. He was an angel. A living angel put on earth just for me..."

"Not for you, Lucille! And you were the biggest, scariest monster of all", I inform her.

"Yes, I am scary, Edith. You would do well to remember it", she hisses.

"If you did anything to me, he would never forgive you. He would kill you all over again with his bare hands", I inform her.

"You think too much of yourself. He'd forget you. He spent his life in my arms, and he would quickly get used to being in them again", he says, smugly. "None of you ever meant anything to him."

"He's never going back there, Lucille", I inform her.

"Damn you! He's MINE! Mine. And I will take him back."

"He was never yours, and you're trapped in Allerdale Hall where you belong.", I respond in my dream.

"He'll come back! It's our home, it's where we both belong!", she shouts. "To spend eternity together. We were all we had!"

"And now he has more, he has me and...", I respond, stopping. She definitely doesn't need to know about the baby.

I hear hammering, knocking, scratching, very loudly, and the sound of her screaming.

I jerk awake.

"You okay?", he asks.

"Yes, yes, just a bad dream", I answer. The sun is up, and I don't want to sleep anymore.

After being yelled at by Annie for trying to help dust, I go outside, just as dusk is starting to fall, to pick some roses for the dining room table.

Once I have a good handful, I head for the door, but damage to my door stops me. What happened?! There are gouges out of the cherry door, just above the stained glass. Gouges. I put the roses down. My fingers fit in them. Fingernails.

I grab my roses quickly and slam the door behind me, re-locking it twice.


	13. Chapter 13

Annie touches my arm as I arrange the lavish lavender, pink, peach, and white roses in a vase.

"Ahhh!", I scream.

"Miss?", she asks, wide-eyed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you so badly. Are you okay? Are you remembering that man..."

"Annie, it's okay", I interrupt.

She stares at me. "Pardon me, Miss, but I don't think it could be..."

"Annie, leave this alone, okay", I insist and march off as her eyes follow me.

I spend the rest of the day writing in my father's study, now my study. Annie clears her throat every time she enters the room. I roll my eyes. She brings me some tea.

"I think spring has finally sprung", I say cheerfully the third time she refills my water glass but clears her throat so I know she's coming. "Some peas for dinner I think."

"I'll tell cook", she says quietly and leaves.

I hate that I have to spend my entire day without him, that I have to sit down to dinner without him, when I would love to talk to him over roast beef and red wine, watch him wipe his lips, feel him kiss my cheek and rub my back, pat his tummy asking what's for dinner, lean my knee against his under the table. Especially today when I have something important to talk about. That's when I realize I'm as bad as he is—I'm living in a fantasy world in which he and I are a normal married couple, the events at Allerdale Hall never happened, and we can spend all our time in my father's sunny home staring into each other's eyes, sighing with contentment as he sinks deep inside me, whispering how much he loves me in my ear, and raising our child together. That he's never leaving me, rather than looking more and more ready to move on every day.

Why are we able to be together happily only in our fantasies? And have I really chosen a dead man over Dr. Alan McMichael, my best friend, savior, and the man I once desperately wanted to marry?

I'm getting to know his body as well my own, what touches turn him on the most, what he likes to hear, the smell of him, the feel of him, every indentation in his arm muscles, tickling his long narrow feet flopping off the edge of the bed...dammit, Edith! Stop. Dinner is slow and lonely.

Mind made up, I scribble a note quickly and hand it to Annie. "Can you take this across town for me?" I ask and she quickly departs.

Later, I'm reading in bed and biding my time, but it's getting darker later this time of year. He shows up about 8:30.

"The house closed up for the night?", I hear as he walks into my bedroom. He removes his clothes and lies down next to me, holding his arms open for me.

"I need to talk to you."

"No good conversation ever started that way", he says.

"It's...I've had a few dreams about Lucille. She was screaming and threatening me and repeating that you're hers. I brushed them off as nothing, but last night it got pretty intense and I dreamed she was banging on my door. This morning, I found a woman's fingernail grooves driven into it. Could she really be trying to get in my house?", I ask.

He removes his arm, and he's nearly shaking. He sighs loudly, looks down at the coverlet, and minutes go by awkwardly. "I figured 'out of sight, out of mind', what a mistake", he finally says, rubbing his temples. "I'll go back. I'll go back, I have to. She has to be dealt with."

"No, Thomas! You're not going back there. She'll kill you again and even if she doesn't, you might as well be dead to have to live with her. No..."

He smiles sadly. "I'm happy you don't want me to leave. But I think there's little choice. Does she know about the baby!?", he suddenly gasps.

"No, I don't think so. Not yet. I guarded my thoughts carefully."

He lets out a deep breath. "Thank God. But it's only a matter of time. I wish you would have told me this earlier. We're lucky she hasn't gotten in yet."

"Thomas?", I ask, clutching him.

"Dammit, I thought she couldn't leave Allerdale Hall, I thought she was trapped there", he says.

"What color is she?", I ask.

"Fuck." He rubs his temples again. "I have to go back."

"Thomas, what color is she?", I ask again.

"Black", he spits out.

"Then I don't see why she can leave there either..."

"Because things change when you're dead. You learn fast, how to move, how to do things to the living...she's a monster and she knows where I am, how to get in your head, and basically how to get in your house", he moans. "She was powerful in life, she's powerful in death. I have to get rid of her. Our son will inherit Allerdale Hall one day, and Pamela, Margaret, and Enola don't deserve to have to be around her."

My heart always falls when his other dead wives are mentioned.

"I think we should confront her here...", I say.

"No! Edith, no, I won't have her in your home..."

"Listen to me, Thomas. She has bad memories of this place; this is where my father caught you both. This isn't her source of strength, she doesn't know this house, this is my home, not hers. This time she's the invader, not me. And don't forget Alan will be back soon with his exorcist. I'll have a talk with him. I think together we can stop her", I say.

"You have no idea what you're saying, Edith, you don't understand this world. You don't know what it's like, and you still don't know her if you think a bad memory is going to weaken her."

"She's in my territory now", I remind him. "If you go back there, Thomas, you'll never come back and you know it." I wipe a tear away.

He loses the fight to not weep himself and clears his throat of unshed tears. "I love you, Edith. I love our baby. I will go deal with her, exorcise her, kill her, or even...become hers again if it would save you. It's the fate I deserve for everything I did. This...is just a daydream. We both knew it couldn't last."

"Thomas, don't say that. I don't want it to be...that."

"I have to go, Edith, there is no argument. I have to go back and deal with her. I will probably go on to what's next with her. She's my responsibility, she always was, and it's past time I did something about her. We're in this situation because I didn't have the strength to do it before. But now I do", he answers.

"Thomas, no."

"Edith, I have loved you for so long." He cups my face and kisses me. "Please tell me you love me before I go, please, even if you don't really mean it...I'll give her my life again, that's all she really wants." I run my fingers over his high cheek bones, his thin lips, his crooked nose. I know every inch of him.

"You gave your life to her once, did it change anything?", I ask rhetorically. "Did it make me safe? Thomas, stay, fight with me. I need you, the baby needs you. We can't survive without you. What if she comes here while you're there? We need you not on this one occasion, we need you for good. We need Daddy."

Tears glisten in his blue eyes and he smiles tightly but sweetly. He rubs my belly. "Daddy", he repeats. "Have you made up your mind, then? Do you want me back? For good?"

"There was never any question. I chose you once, and believed it was the biggest mistake I ever made. I sat in easy judgement of myself, but I was lying to believe I would do a single thing differently. I just don't want to lose you, and you're dead."

"I will find a way to stay with you. Hear me, Edith, I don't care what I have to do, if I have to defy a god himself, I will find a way to stay with you, my darling", he swears. I wipe a tear off his cheek. "If you want me for your husband and your protector...I'm yours."

"I love you", I promise.

"I love you too."

We cry in each other's arms, and I fall asleep. I sense myself opening my eyes and I don't know which side of consciousness I'm on. I hear him repeating himself: "I will find a way to stay with you. Hear me, Edith, I don't care what I have to do, if I have to defy a god himself, I will find a way to stay with you, my darling. I love you."

Standing in front of me, dressed in an ethereal white gown, is Lucille before she died. Tears are pouring down her cheeks. "I hate you", she whimpers, "I hate you. I hate you." Blood starts to drip from her eyes as it falls into puddles on the floor, as I scream. "And I. Will. Kill. You."

I wake with a start, sit up and gasp. Thomas clutches me and looks fervently around the room.

"Did you dream about her?", he asks.

"Yes, she was here. She said she was going to kill me..." I fall back into his arms. "She said she hated me. She..."

I scream. I can't look at butterflies or moths. Not since Crimson Peak. I can't, I can't, but...the floor is covered with dead huge black moths.

"It doesn't matter what she says. She won't touch you."

"Look at the floor, Thomas! She was here! She was in this room!", I shout. He snaps his fingers the ecoplasmic moths disappear. He clutches me tighter.

"You're squeezing me, you're squeezing me!" I protest as he cuts off my air.

"Sorry", he responds, loosening his grip. "I just..."

"I know." I cup his face in my hands. "I know, baby, I know."

"You don't know, you can't, you're not dead. I was possessive of you when I was alive but...damn it! This feeling, it burns. I don't want to be away from you for a second, I worry about you constantly." He buries his face in my breasts. "I can't go on without you. I want..."

"I know", I respond, kissing him. "I know, I know, I know, I love you." We're tearing each other's clothes off when the bell rings.

"Who?", he asks.

I run to the stained-glass window.

"Thank God, it's Alan!", I cheer.

He rolls his eyes. "Just exactly what I want to hear from my wife, how thrilled she is another man is at the door."

I roll my eyes back. "Thomas, we need to work together. I sent him a note."

"So you don't believe I can protect you", he says. He's five years old again being told he's not manly enough, and I curse myself. I should have given him some notice.

I turn to run out of the room. He grabs my arms. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your clothes?", he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look and don't be jealous", I say, and he pulls me into his arms.

"You're asking too much." He crushes his lips to mine

"Then please just try to get along with him long enough to get rid of your sister", I ask.

"I will try", he promises. "But his mind hasn't changed." Thomas stares at him out the window. "He still wants you. He's more determined than ever to marry you. He wants to take you away from me. There is only so much understanding I am capable of showing."

I shake my head and pull away, but he yanks me back.

"I have to get dressed!", I shout.

"You're mine", he says.

I roll my eyes at him.

"Say it", he commands, then changes his voice when I glare at him. "Please, say it. Please remind me you agreed to be my wife again. You know how badly I fear...losing you." He cuts off.

"I'm yours", I answer. "And you are mine."

"Edith, I want to renew our vows. I was never the husband to you I promised to be", he says.

"I think that's a great idea but we have to survive first! We have to get rid of her, now please, let me go..."

"I know, I know, it's just...for me, there's nothing to survive for without you", he says.

"Clothes", I repeat.

"Even if you wear my overcoat, you're not going down there without me", he smirks, and kisses my hand. "Do not even consider it."

"I had no intentions of going down there without you", I inform him, pulling him into a kiss.

He smiles and rubs my cheek. "My Edith."

"Now stop that and let me get dressed!"

"But it's so much more fun getting you undressed", he laughs, and searches for his own clothes on the floor.

I throw on a dress. It generally takes hours and Annie's help to dress as a proper Edwardian lady, but I have to go grab the door.

I take his hand as we head out of the bedroom, and I feel like he's truly changed so much in the last few weeks. I tuck myself under his arm and he smiles, holding me close to him. I feel...safe with him. Which I honestly never did before, not like this.

"You can allow some breathing room", I joke, "The minute we walk into together, he'll know the score."

"I want to make sure he knows the score is in my favor", he says.

Annie has let Alan in the door and he stands in the foyer, shaking rain off his coat. Reminds me far too much of another night.

"Edith", he says, nodding to me. "Sharpe, I see you're still here", he adds.

"Yes, and I will stay here to protect Edith", Thomas assures him.

"Your note didn't say much", Alan says, avoiding a confrontation for now. "Just that you needed my help to get rid of a ghost." He stares at Thomas.

"It said a bit more than that. Lucille has returned. I need your exorcist. I'm sorry about how we all parted when you were last here, but I'm begging you to help. She could hurt my child...", I say.

"You never have to BEG for my help, Edith. I wonder what you're used to think that you have to beg for a man's help", Alan snipes. Thomas's eyes get large as saucers, but he doesn't say anything thankfully. "But my "exorcist" is out of town unfortunately..."

"Oh no. Alan, where did you find him? I need real help fast...", I start.

"Well I'm here. I learned a few things since all this happened. I will banish her myself", he says.

Thomas rolls his eyes. "McMicheal, you're insane if you think you can banish her. If it could be done, I'd already have done it myself. Give Edith some salt and sage and she could banish an ordinary ghost herself..."

"I think I just might", Alan adds viciously.

"Be my guest. If Edith wanted me to leave I would have already..."

"*I* want you to leave."

"I hope you don't think I care what you want."

"Stop!", I shout. "Both of you. I need your help and the best the two of you can do is start a dick-measuring contest?"

"Edith!", Alan yelps, "When did you start talking like that?"

"Darling, that seems excessive", Thomas starts.

"Oh shut up, both of you. Alan, I need a real exorcist", I say.

"He'll be back by the end of the week. But I will protect you until then." He opens the bag at his feet and pulls out twisted stacks of sage, bags of salt, and several other charms and crystals.

Thomas rolls his eyes again. "I didn't know you'd stopped being a doctor and started a business as an occult charlatan", he spits.

"Thomas, enough!", I insist. "It can't wait that long. Is there someone else?"

"I'll be here in the meantime, sleeping near you to keep you safe..."

Thomas takes an aggressive step forward. I place a hand on his arm to hold him back. "Did you just suggest you were going to sleep with my wife?", he asks.

"No, he didn't say that", I tell him. "You didn't, did you?"

"Of course not. And she's not your wife, she's your widow..."

Thomas takes another step forward, and I put two hands against his chest.

"What DO you have in mind, Alan?", I ask.

"Two are better than one, and I came prepared. The sofa in your study is fine. I'm staying."


	14. Chapter 14

I watch as every possible human emotion crosses Thomas's face. Finally he swallows and nods.

"You're right, two are better than one. I will welcome any help against Lucille I can get. I don't know if I can protect my wife. She certainly doesn't seem to think so." He turns on the heel of his shiny shoes and walks away.

"Thomas! Thomas!", I call after him, but he keeps going.

Annie is standing in the doorway, her mouth open. "Miss? Uh, Miss..." She falls to her knees.

"Annie, Annie, I'm so sorry. I should have told you. He's..."

"Dead!", she shouts.

"You shouldn't be able to see him. I suppose things are changing. It's okay, Annie." I take her hands and pull her up. "We've talked for many weeks now; I knew he was here. It's okay, Annie."

"What did he do to you?!", she howls.

"Tell her", Alan prompts, rolling his eyes at me.

"Stop judging me, both of you!", I howl and run out of the house.

"Edith, you can't go out there by yourself!", Alan booms, but I slam the door behind me.

"Miss!", Annie calls pushing the door open, parasol in her hand.

I head the other direction and get only a few feet before I run face into chest. "Edith, it is pouring rain, you will catch a chill", Thomas insists, standing in front of me, and infuriatingly dry as a bone.

"Go away!", I yell. I scream as I'm yanked off my feet. I blink and I'm in my living room in Thomas's arms, as he sets me down on sofa before the fireplace. He snaps his fingers and it lights.

"Don't endanger yourself or the baby. You can hate me all you want, but you will take care of yourself", he orders.

"I don't hate you! Everyone is angry with me, everyone feels betrayed. You can all go to hell!", I yell. "I don't owe you anything!"

He crooks one of those eyebrows at me and sweeps me up in his arms.

"Put her down!", Alan orders.

"What's happening?", Annie demands.

"I'm taking your mistress to the bedroom because she needs to change out of her wet clothes", Thomas tells Annie. He ignores Alan entirely.

"Sharpe, put her down, you have no right", Alan yells.

"I have a husband's rights, McMichael", Thomas responds, and takes me into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him.

He puts me on the bed, and I have a feeling he'd have thrown me there if I weren't pregnant.

"What is going on Edith? Why are you spitting like a hell cat? I'm the one who has a reason to be angry, me, alright, you're the one who invited another man into this house without even telling me", he says.

And my hormones pick that time of all times to kick in. And I burst into tears.

"Edith! Oh, Edith! I'm so sorry, so sorry", he gushes, and I'm furious with myself. Tears are cheating. I have serious things to be angry about. "It's better that he's here. I'm not angry."

"I should have told you", I say. "I'm just exhausted from all this. I never expected to see you again. I never wanted to love you again. But I did and I do..."

"Keep talking, just get this off", he orders, pulling my dress over my head. "You'll catch pneumonia."

"Alan was my best friend. We grew up more in each other's homes than our own. We carried on I guess what you could call it a "childlike" flirtation that went on most of our lives. Eunice and I were best friends for a time..."

He pulls a warm, clean dressing gown over my head.

"Don't stop, keep talking", he says, kissing the top of my head, then my belly. He picks me up and puts me in bed, pulling the covers to my chin.

"Then my mother died. Alan was there for me in a way no one else was. And after my pain ebbed enough to rejoin the world, I fell in love", I say.

Thomas smiles ear to ear at the thought of young Edith in love.

"When we were in our teens, we spent every moment together. I was in love with him, but I think he considered me too young and silly for him. We had our first kiss when I was 17; we held hands beneath the oak tree. That summer was the best of my life. Then he said he was going to go college to become a doctor, but he didn't tell me any details. I presumed he'd pick a school in New York state, in the U.S. for sure, but he didn't. I didn't argue. I didn't say a word. I figured he'd marry me when I turned 21 and take me with him. But he didn't. He left two days after my 20th birthday. He was gone 6 years and barely wrote a word, and only visited twice. I was heartbroken. I thought I would die without him, I wanted to die without him. Then one day, when he'd been gone nearly 24 months, I got up, and I realized I was surviving without him. And I got better at it every day, every day, Thomas."

He sits beside me and cuddles me close to him, pulls out his handkerchief, and dries my cheeks.

"I don't need Alan McMichael. I wanted him for a very long time. And yes, I could have told you he was coming. For that matter, I could have married him while I had the chance. I could choose to marry him still if I wanted. And he could have chosen a school nearby, in New York City even. He could have married me and taken me with him to London. He could have given me some reason to hope we had a future. He chose not to do any of those things, and choices have consequences. None of this has to do with revenge, it has to do with the fact that I slowly fell out of love with him during those years, something I didn't want to do, and he easily could have prevented. After deciding to come back, I think he was expecting the same knobbly kneed girl and was also perhaps even expecting us to pick up where we left off, probably to marry right away. I'm grateful to him. He saved my life. I could love him again. I was ready to be his wife not long ago. But I will never, ever feel about him the way I do about you", I finish.

He tilts up my chin and pulls me into a deep kiss. Every time I think it's over, it's not.

"It's a different kind of love, Thomas. It's dear and sweet. And after Allerdale Hall, I figured once again I was destined to be his wife. Until he made my child a deal-breaker. What we had was very nice. But it was never...well we never shredded any nightgowns or knocked down any chandeliers, that's put it that way", I blush.

"Thank you", he says finally. "I told you my story, but made the self-centered mistake of thinking I was the only one who had one. Because you didn't live my nightmare, you automatically didn't have a past. Thank you for telling me that, Edith. I think I understand both of you better. How deep your emotions run for him and just how long you've known each other. And just how angry he is at himself for letting you get away." He winks. "He truly detests me, you know."

I laugh. "He kinda has reason to", I say.

"He kinda does", he agrees. "I am a monster, and part of me will always dislike him for knowing that. Part of his hatred is rooted in truth and fact, but if the events of Allerdale Hall never happened, he'd hate me still. I took what he wanted most."

"He thinks I'm insane to take you back. So does Annie. They're both judging me with everything they've got..."

He laughs. "Thomas!"

"I'm sorry." He's still smirking.

"Thomas!"

"Does it really bother you that much? The man who wants you for himself doesn't think we should be together, not so much of a surprise. And your maid is simply protective of you and confused. I read people fairly easily now. You're mistress here, you can explain to her however much you want and nothing you don't. But I can tell she cares for you. She will never trust me. But I don't mind if that means there's an extra pair of eyes on you."

"You think I can stay here and take a nap?", I ask.

He frowns. "I don't like that you haven't been. You seem exhausted. This baby is enough stress without everything else going on. Sleep. I will have a talk with Annie, okay?", he says.

"Um, I don't want you to scare her, you can be terrifying when you want to be."

"I'm a ghost, Edith. But I will be completely non-scary, I promise you. I barely look ghostly anymore." His nervous laugh ends abruptly. Neither of us knows what will happen when he's forgiven himself, when he's at peace.

He kisses me again. "I love you, Lady Sharpe."

He walks out and makes a surprised sound. Alan must have been waiting just outside the door.

"She's fine, she's sleeping", I hear Thomas insist. "Please don't disturb her. She's getting bigger every day, which I'm sure you've noticed..."

I frown.

"This baby is hard for her. She needs her rest", he finishes.

"I need to see her with my own eyes, to know she's okay, that you didn't kill her...again!", I hear Alan spit.

"You will not waltz into my bedroom, McMichael, you'll see her at dinner", Thomas answers, showing an amazing amount of calm. "I will never forgive myself for what happened or for not getting Edith away faster."

"Faster? Are you suffering under some delusion that you rescued her? No, that was me. You poisoned her along with your dear sister. She'd be dead if I hadn't come that night", Alan says.

I can feel Thomas's thoughts. Was it true? In my mind's eye, I can see him start to double over from emotional pain made physical. Alan did come to rescue me. But I ended up rescuing him. Thomas intended to save me. But he didn't, and I had to save myself. Both men argue over who my savior is, but I know who it is already.

"I'm fine, Alan!" I yell loudly enough for him to hear. "And if you recall, I saved you."

Dead silence, then stomping down the stairs.


	15. Chapter 15

Thomas POV

The tiny gray-painted kitchenette alcove serves as a cabinet, pantry, and staff kitchen table, tucked between the larger kitchen and dining room. I enter the room as Annie is taking a jar of cherry preserves off the shelf, getting everything out for tomorrow's breakfast. She spins around with a scream and the jar goes crashing to the floor, spraying red everywhere. I squeeze my eyes closed involuntarily. It looks too much like blood.

"I know what you are, sir, you're a shade, you're a specter!', she yells. "Well you can't have my mistress, and you can't have me!" Trying to make herself as tiny as possible, she squeezes into the corner.

I hold up both hands surrendering. "You're smart. You're right, Annie. But we have to keep it in the family..."

"The police", she squeaks.

"No, no, Annie. What's the first rule of service?", I ask.

"You don't talk about them you work for", she answers automatically.

"Exactly. This is a family secret, Edith's secret, and I need you to be loyal and keep it for her. I know you care about her."

"What did you do to her?!", she screeches.

"Unforgivable things", I sigh quietly, rubbing my forehead. "But...she's forgiven me anyway."

"That's your baby isn't?", she asks, her face tight with disgust.

"That really isn't any of your..."

"Business?", she finishes, more aggressively than I thought. "The mistress is my business. She had a bad time. She had a bad time when her mother died, and then when her father died, and then she went away with you and came back different. The leaves blow outside and she jumps", Annie says.

"Fuck", I whisper quietly and she jumps again. I did this. To the woman I love. "I apologize for my language. I just...didn't know it was that bad. And it's my fault. But she's mine and so is the child..."

"Child of the devil!", she screams again.

"I wish there was a way to argue with you", I say, holding up my hands again, "But you're not that far off. But she loves me, Annie. And I love her. I swear to you I will never hurt again. I will spend eternity protecting her. And I encourage you to watch over her like a hawk. Watch me. I'll earn your trust eventually."

"How long you stayin?", she asks.

"I wish I knew. Why don't you go on up to bed, and I'll clean the mess?"

"No sir, I can't allow you to clean the floor..."

"You can", I answer back with certainty. "Go on." There's no way to question my tone.

She scoots past me, terrified of my touch, as if she'll become my possessed by my mere presence. I scoop up the jam and glass, and wipe it off the floor. "Ow! What the..." Glass is jammed into my pointer finger. "I feel this." I'm getting more alive by the day.

"Doesn't make you alive."

I look up. "McMichael. I thought you were tucked into the sofa for the evening. That olive green velvet one in front of a roaring fire in the parlor. You can't be uncomfortable."

"I was asleep until I heard voices. A woman screaming. I had no idea what you were up to, but I was damn sure going to find out", Alan growls.

"I startled Annie. She dropped a jar and it was loud. That's it", I answer.

"I bet you did. It's not every day you run into the ghost of a murderer in the pantry."

"Can you please let the animosity between us die for Edith's sake? Or least until Lucille is gone? I need your help. Edith needs your help", I beg, tossing the rest of the glass into the rubbish bin.

"I will be here for Edith the way I'm always here for Edith, and I will save her from your vile sister, and from you too, and finally break the hold you have on her!"

"So much for a truce."

"I heard Annie call the baby the "devil's." Don't you wonder if it won't be...right? I mean, the sins of the father, and all that...you know I begged her to get rid of it. Someday she'll realize she can't love a corpse." He rubs his sleep eyes. In the morning light, he would not say such things.

My jaw falls open. It's too much, he says too much.

"She told me who she loved. Earlier", I taunt. "She told me all about you and how you admired her from afar. Maybe you were afraid of her, maybe you thought you'd find better, who knows, but you did what was best for yourself and let her get away. She loves you as a friend; she never loved you as anything else. Your love never shook the chandelier she said. She cares about you, she's passionately in love with me. I'M the one she married, McMicheal."

"Yes, and then you killed her, or nearly did."

I advance on Alan and squeezes my eyes closed, my sweaty fist squeezing. All see is red and my ears are ringing. I take a deep breath. "Forget it, go to bed."

"I can offer her a living husband! Certainty, a home...", Alan starts.

"And she still prefers a dead man to you", I hiss. Alan is the one to have violence in his eyes.

"You son of bitch, I can't wait to banish you, or drive a fucking stake through your frigid English heart, whichever happens first", Alan snarls

"Quiet!" Annie is on the bottom stair hissing like a wildcat. "You'll wake the mistress and she's under enough stress!"

"You're right, Annie, my apologies", I say and head up the stairs.

"She loved me her entire life", Alan calls after me.

"And I'll be inside her the entire night", I whisper, loosening my cravat. I don't look back.

"Bastard!", Alan screams after him.

"Shhhh!", Annie commands.

I head up the creaky staircase, and can't stop smirking.

I push open the door. "What was that all about?", Edith complains, sleepily. Dressed in her nightdress, exhausted, hair disheveled, I just want to comfort her until she can fall back to sleep.

"I'm so sorry we woke you, my love, go back to sleep."

"First tell me what it was about", Edith orders.

"McMichael hates me. So I was mean", I offer.

"Mean?", she asks, wide eyed. "But you're not mean, Thomas, you go straight from flawlessly polite to terrifying."

"Terrifying? Really, Edith."

She raises an eyebrow. I can't help but smile again and sit down, running my hands through her hair.

"Maybe", I concede.

I crawl in next to her. "I don't want to think about it."

She gives in and cuddles back against me. I'm not happy until my nose is pressed against the back of her ivory neck, the scent of her perfume in my lungs, her warm body pressed tight against me.

I hear a noise. My eyes blink open.

"Thomas."

I know that voice. My insides freeze, then turn to jelly. I can't look. I can't look. I'm scared to look. This can't be happening.

There, lying next to me, her perfect skin like white marble, blue veins just under her translucent skin—on her cheekbones, in her neck, under her eyes- like violet butterflies. Her long hair black as a raven's wing. My sister was beautiful, but it had been so long since I'd looked on her with anything by hatred.

"Thomas. Aren't you going to greet me?"

"You're not here. This is a dream", I say. She smirks and I want to beat her to death. I want to pound on those high cheekbones until they're shattered. But she's already dead.

"Come home with me." She reaches for me and I jerk back. My skin crawls as she my touches my arm. "Come home with me."

"You don't belong here", I say.

"We belong together. We're in this together." I nearly burst into tears hearing that again. "You belong to me, in that life, and in this one. Come home with me, brother. Or I'll kill your whore. I promise." She kisses my cheek and I squeeze my eyes closed.

I awake with a scream and look next to me. "Thomas?"

Edith is bundled tight beneath the covers next to me.

"Edith, thank God, thank God", I squeak, holding her tight.

"Thomas, what's wrong?!"

"I need to go for a walk."

"A walk?! Its 2 a.m. Thomas, what happened? You saw her, didn't you?", she gasps.

"Yes, and I need to start working on some protections for this house." It's nearly impossible to pull myself from the warm bed, from her arms, but I do.


End file.
